


Werewolf courtship 101

by Arabwel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Courtship, Angst, Chris Argent is a douchebag, Courtship, F/M, Fluff, Isaac is not helping, M/M, Minor Violence, Mood Whiplash, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Past minor steter and stalia, Peter is not emo, Protective Parents, Romantic Comedy, Scenting, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Stiles is Hale nip, Werewolf Culture, failtastic courtship, like they made out once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step one: Obtain the alpha’s permission.<br/>Step two: Signal your intentions to your intended with a gift of wolfsbane.<br/>Step three: Show your ability to protect your intended<br/>Step three: Prove that you can provide….</p><p>Peter’s thoughts crashed into a halt when Stiles’ words impacted him with their full force.</p><p>Allison’s dad saved your sorry ass.</p><p>Allison <i>Argent’s</i> dad.</p><p>The same goddamn Argent who had given Peter the wolfsbane that was the reason Peter had this hangover. The wolfsbane retrieved from a witch’s lair, while hunting said cat-murdering psycho bitch, with the cost of a ruined shirt and blood loss for Argent in lieu of missing internal organs. </p><p>Or: When Peter explains to Stiles how to woo Derek properly,  Chris Argent's recent actions are seen a new light. But surely the hunter could not be courting a werewolf? No, it must all be a mistake, a coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic a few days ago and this is now a blatant AU where certain people DO NOT DIE, dammit. Huge thank you for Inouken! Unbeta'd, so any mistakes please let me know.
> 
> Rating + tags subject to change

In retrospect, getting drunk with Stiles was the worst idea Peter’s ever had in his life, both pre- and post-resurrection. In fact, with the fact that werewolves as a rule could not get drunk, this idea had been immensely stupid.

But no, Peter just had to decide he’s join Stiles when the boy showed up at his doorstep 3 in the morning, full of jitters and eyes bright with the unsettling way that had come on the boy after the Nogitsune spectacle. After all, what better time to try out the _A. fischeri_ tincture Argent had so casually tossed him when they raided the witches’ lair last month?

Just a couple of drops of this particular liquid, a real pain in the ass to acquire in North America courtesy of being a native of Siberia, and a wolf could trust his liver to fail him just enough to get soused. But,  like all aconite, it was a poison and not something for children to play with.. so of course Peter was the one trusted with it, not his broody nephew or his still too young to vote, let alone to drink nominal Alpha. Because Peter Hale was good now.

Or words to that effect.

Stiles’s JD was not laced with aconite, on account of the boy’s still-human status. Emissary apprentice or no, the alcohol was hitting him hard and he was starting to talk again after their companionable silence of _I get you_ had started to pass towards awkward.

“I just don’t get it, man. I thought - with all the slamming - and the growling and - stuff, that he’d actually be interested. But now it’s like he doesn’t have the time of day for me and I’m too chickenshit to go and say anything to him.”

Peter had anticipated that this tirade would happen sooner rather than later; the eyes Stiles made at Derek, which were returned when the boy was not looking, were impossible for him to miss.

He blames the alcohol for the fact that instead of scoffing and telling Stiles that even though his standards have dropped after Lydia, Derek is just as not into him, what he said was, “Well of course he’s stopped, that big marshmallow is expecting you to take the first step. To woo him right.”

Stiles blinked, mouth hanging open. “Are you telling me he’s expecting me to do some sort of a werewolf mating dance?” Before peter could recant his words, Stiles stabbed a finger at him. “He is! I was totally right, there are secret werewolf courtship rituals! Spill!”

And, because Peter liked Stiles and if he had stayed an alpha, would have made Stiles his second in a heartbeat, he closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine, but I need to be far more drunk for this.”  
  
And that is how Peter ended up drinking aconite-spiked Jack Daniels and telling Stiles with a serious face just what the poor kid would have to go through if he expected to woo his nephew. With every frown and distressed hand-wring, Peter’s satisfaction grew; he might be good now but he was not nice. Not at all.

Besides, squirmy was a good look on Stiles. Peter’s grin was pure wolf when he finished his explanation, along with the third glass of Jack.

Stiles tilted his head. “So let’s see if I got this right. While Derek was an alpha, he could do shit to court me but now that he isn’t, I’m supposed to do it since me and Scott are BFFs for life and that means in pack terms Derek is my bitch?”

Peter nodded. “I would not put it like that, but yes, your status is higher so once you’ve retained permission from the alpha, you’re free to court him.”  
  
“And there are rituals.” Stiles looked slightly green and took a sip of his non-aconite drink. “Involving eviscerating small animals.”  
  
“Well if you’d rather hunt down big game so you can bring him a still-warm heart….”   
  
“Dude, it’s not hunting season for deer in another six months. With my luck i’d be caught by fish and game and my dad and there would be - would be consequences because poaching might not be a hanging offense - and seriously why is there only one Robin Hood with an actual English accent and it’s Men in Tights? that movie’s genius, have you seen it?”

Peter let Stiles ramble for another minute or two before he lifted his hand. “Enough. You’re Scott’s best friend and his right hand, so you get to do the courting. Including the part where you bring a fresh kill to him to show you can provide for him and the cubs.”  
  
“Cubs? You said nothing about cubs!”   
  
Peter needed another glass of whiskey to deal with Stiles’s freak out in that regard.

*****  
  
Peter woke up with his first hangover in a very long time. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow and wished for the world to go away and leave him alone. But no, the pressure in his bladder almost equaled the one on his temples, and with a long suffering sigh he hauled himself up and into the bathroom.

He took meticulous care when he brushed his teeth to rid himself of the feeling that something had not only died but also reanimated in his mouth; he could hear another heartbeat, and it did not surprise him Stiles had crashed on the couch. Would not do to let the boy see him anything but immaculate. (He refused to think about the first time Stiles had ended up staying over and how the Sheriff had showed up with a shotgun. The indignity of the whole situation - and the assumption he’d be stupid enough to keep the boy here overnight if he were up to no good - had not been a pleasant experience for anyone involved, least alone Stiles who had been mortified.)

But now, it had become a relatively common occurrence. After all, they shared certain.. experiences… that rest of the pack didn’t. Granted, Peter had not been possessed, just insane for the worst of his atrocities, but that was not it. It was not the blood on their hands, but the blood on their minds - the knowledge that both were intelligent and ruthless and capable of fucking shit up if need be.

Ever since Peter had told them that he was on their side, “you bastards” and Stiles had called him out on quoting Balthazar from Supernatural, things had been... interesting. Peter was pack, rather than pack-adjacent; tenuous, yes, and absolutely galling but right now his drive for regaining his alphahood was... not exactly on hold, but content to wait and observe.  

He’d always been happy to play the long game, and at the end of the day being “good” kind of felt… good. Not that he’d ever admit to it, of course, he had standards to maintain. Which meant that as he played at being the good uncle and pack elder, he was factual as well as delighted by the torment he got to heap on Stiles.

Hopefully the brat had a worse headache. Would serve him right.

Once Peter had gotten in the shower, he started to mentally review what he’d told Stiles the night before.

How To Court Your Intended Werewolf 101.

Step one: Obtain the alpha’s permission.

_“You mean I have to ask Scott if I can date Derek? Dude, that’s just wrong!”_

Step two: Signal your intentions to your intended with a gift of wolfsbane.

_“No, Stiles, the dead animals come later. And no, you can’t just order it off the internet. It must be procured at a personal risk to your pasty white ass because we like to weed out the too stupid and useless to breed before any time gets wasted. Not just garden variety, either - it has to be rare and useful. Useful, like the Northern Blue monkshood which could neutralize most other aconitum species; the reason it was an endangered plant these days. Or, the Siberian Fischer’s Monkshood that allowed for getting a werewolf drunk. Not all purposes had to be noble, after all._

Step three: Show your ability to protect your intended

_“You mean the fact that I kept him from drowning by paddling water for, like, hours doesn’t count? That’s unfair!””_  
  
 _“You hadn’t declared your intentions. If it counted, half the pack would already be courting. Which is also not that unusual, wolves do mate for life but there’s always room for play.”_  
  
 _“Eww, gross, I didn’t need to hear that, but yeah that makes sense, I mean Allison’s dad saved your sorry ass last week, for fuck’s sake.”_  
  
Step three: Prove that you can provide….

Peter’s thoughts crashed into a halt when Stiles’ words impacted him with their full force.

_Allison’s dad saved your sorry ass._

Allison _Argent_ ’s dad.

The same goddamn Argent who had given Peter the wolfsbane that was the reason Peter had this hangover. The wolfsbane retrieved from a witch’s lair, while hunting said cat-murdering psycho bitch, with the cost of a ruined shirt and blood loss for Argent in lieu of missing internal organs.

***  
  
Stiles woke to a loud crash and a headache. He blinked awake, groaning at the bright daylight dappling through the room. Figures he’d fallen asleep at Peter’s again.   
  
For a moment he thought about pulling the blanket - ok, the cashmere throw that was so comfortable Stiles just wanted to rub his face on it every time he was here - over his head and trying to get a bit more sleep, but from the position of the sun and the racket coming from the direction of the bathroom, he’d be better off getting up now.

He was pretty sure it was not an attack, not with the way he could hear Peter swearing. He knocked on the bathroom door. “Peter, you okay?”

“Fine! Go away!” Peter’s voice was muffled through the door. Stiles shrugged, and turned away when another crash sounded from the bathroom.

Stiles pushed the door open and burst out laughing. “Oh man, I wish I had a camera.”  
  
“I wish I had a reason to rip out your throat with my teeth.” Peter’s voice was still muffled by the shower curtain.

“That’s Derek’s job, be more original man.”  
  
Peter ripped the curtain off his face and stood up, dripping with water and suds. “Get. Out.”   
  
“Or what?”

“Or I tell my nephew you like to barge in on me in the shower.”  
  
“Hey the time with the fairies was totally justified!” Stiles could feel himself blushing but when Peter’s grip of the curtain eased and it dipped dangerously low, he turned on his heel and got the hell out of dodge.

Fucking fairies, fucking sunlight, fucking hangover, fucking Peter and holy fuck what had Peter told him last night?

By the time Peter joined him again, fully dressed and coiffed, Stiles had taken his Adderall, put his feet up on the table, and gotten a cup of coffee and a notebook in which he was jotting down everything he remembered from the night before.

“So to recap,” Stiles’ words were slightly muffled as he pulled the highlighter out from his mouth. “Derek actually wants me to court him, because he’s a big fluffy marshmallow under the Sourwolf exterior. And, also because I outrank him. So if I want to date him, I have to ask Scott for permission first, then give him fancy wolfsbane, protect him from harm, gift a kill to him and the pack with the heart being earmarked for him and ugh that is so gross, and then scent mark him.”  
  
“Not to put too fine a point  to it, yes.”  Peter’s light tone was at odds with his creepy smile.

“And what will Derek do?” Stiles tilted his head. This was important, and he’d rather know everything beforehand. He was not going to trust this to the internet, but he was going to fact check everything Peter said so hard from the bestiaries and Deaton.

Peter shrugged. “Depends. he can formally reject you in a lot of ways - throwing the wolfsbane in your face, refusing the kill and literally trampling the heart in the dust, going to Scott and telling him no. Or, he can just rip out your throat with his teeth.”  
  
“Great,” Stiles groaned. Great, just great. “Aren’t you the one who said he wants to be courted?”  
  
Peter’s eyes flashed. “I never said you were worthy.”  
  
“Dick.”

An hour passed with the two of them bickering and drinking Peter’s overpriced yet sinfully good coffee, while Stiles pumped him for information. Apparently this was gonna be pretty one-sided, with Stiles doing all the heavy lifting. Derek could, if he was so inclined, demonstrate his nesting abilities, special talents and suitability for bearing cubs - “Metaphorically!” - but until Stiles had scent-marked him (Or died trying) there wasn’t much reciprocity.

Stiles didn’t head straight home; His dad was working a double and he’d left a note. His dad wasn’t exactly happy about the time Stiles spent with Peter, but he got that it was something Stiles needed. Someone who didn’t pity him or judge him for what had gone down with the Nogitsune. Who understood… stuff.

Peter may have been the zombie wolf who came back from the death via traumatizing Lydia, but Stiles was the guy who’d knowingly used Molotov cocktails on  a burn victim. Some people would argue that it was a great reason to not to let Stiles anywhere near Peter, but since it worked, his dad had only showed up with a shotgun once.

Miraculously, Scott was at home and alone. His mom was at work, Isaac at the clinic, and Allison was doing hunter stuff with her dad, so Scott was free and clear to hang out and spend the beautiful and still too fucking bright Saturday morning playing video games.

And getting his alpha on.

“So, Scott, brother,” Stiles started, as he put his controller down.

Scott eyed him suspiciously. “Did you just let me win in Mario Kart because you want something from me?”

“No! Well okay maybe yes! But it’s not that I want something from you, it’s not like that, it’s about you being the alpha and me needing your permission to do something and wow werewolves are really behind the times, I need to research if all this pack stuff is genetic, instinctual or magical,  or if wolves can become civilized like the rest of the world and - “   
  
“Stiles!” Scott’s voice had a hint of growl when he interrupted Stiles’ tirade, and his jaw clamped shut. Okay, mentioning the alpha business clearly brought Scott’s wolf to the fore, okay, good.

“Okay, getting to the point. Since you’re the alpha and all that, would it be okay if I - if I dated Derek? I mean we’re both pack so it’s kind of up to you….”  
  
Scott’s eyes widened. “Dude. You and Derek? Finally?”   
  
“Yeah, me and Derek. I’d like to, you know, there to be a me and Derek but I can’t do that unless I, you know, ask the alpha.”  
  
Scott’s frown is kind of adorable. “Okay that makes sense but dude if you’re asking permission to date Derek shouldn’t you like, ask Peter?”  
  
“Werewolves may be antiquated but they aren’t patriarchal, just because peter’s an older male relative of Derek’s doesn’t mean he has jack for authority.” Stiles licks his lips trying to focus his thoughts. “You’re Derek’s alpha, and mine too, so you’re okay if Derek wants to go out with me?”  
  
He watches Scott’s eyes go wide. “So you mean to date you need alpha’s permission - dude, that explains it I had the weirdest conversation with Mr. Argent!”

 Okay, Stiles did not expect that. “Seriously?!”

 Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it was weird, and super stilted and formal, but I guess it was because of Allison.”  
  
And like clockwork, back to Allison. Stiles groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback!
> 
> Additional warning: the werewolves are very casual about being violent towards each other due to their healing abilities so please proceed with caution if this may trigger you

Once Stiles was gone, Peter took his time to straighten out his bathroom before drawing himself a bubble bath. Combining the hangover, the undignified fall in the shower, and the absolutely ridiculous idea of _Argent_ paying him court was simply intolerable. So, a long, hot bath while he contemplated his options was in his immediate future.

He’d probably order sushi, too.

The contrast of hot water on his skin - too hot for a human - and the chill seeping into his skin from the cucumber slices on his face was sublime. He could feel the last traces of a headache eking away, murmuring contently as he settled into a comfortable position. 

This was better. So much better. His earlier foolishness at the two… incidents involving Argent had been absolutely unfounded. Sure, Argent had gifted him with rare wolfsbane, and then a month later saved his life. But there was no way Argent knew what those acts would signify, hunter or no, and besides there was no way Christophe Argent would have gone to his daughter’s… Peter really did not want to contemplate the specifics of that one… go to Scott McCall for permission to do anything, let alone pursue someone _romantically_...

No, if Argent was interested, it would be… comical. Awkward. Put an entirely new spin on the grand majestic _fuck-up_ that was their family relations.Peter had no desire to contemplate the many and varied ways in which the Hales and Argents had fucked each other over in the past decade. Kate Argent was dead and his claws had done the job. It would be… counter-productive to keep going because you can only grind a blade down so much before it becomes brittle instead of sharp. 

He believed in justice. He believed in vengance. He believed in _getting the bastard_. (And were Stiles here, Peter was sure he’d be called out on quoting song lyrics except, he was uncertain the boy had any taste in that regard.)

Yes, he would put all this aside. He did not need to contemplate gifts or courting, or how Argent’s hands felt on his shoulders when the man dragged him to safety. They were nice, strong hands…

Well, maybe he’d contemplate a little. After he was done with the bath, some things were just plain gross.

****

Stiles was not a happy camper. Rare wolfsbane was _rare_ , and trying to find a way to get some that would fit the requirements Deaton had confirmed was worse.

Had this happened just a year ago, he probably would have gone with a bit of B&E at Casa Argent because, hey, stealing wolfsbane from hunters? Grade A dangerous. And Chris Argent was the most _badass_ person Stiles had ever encountered. Human or not.

But, the funny thing was that these days? The Argents weren’t exactly enemies or reluctant allies. After that… thing they really don’t want to talk about… Derek and Chris had become tentative bros (A thing that still made Stiles flail because it was like, against the natural order of the universe, lion lying with the lamb, stormtroopers and redshirts) so it’s not like he’d be risking life and limb trying to sneak in. Well okay, _he_ might, but since he also had the alarm code it really was not going to count. 

So here he was, surfing the internet at 2 am, looking at botanical labs in California and industrial espionage. Deaton had also confirmed that the peril need not be just purely physical - so there was no need to scale mountains, felony charges and security guards with tasers were perfectly valid obstacles to overcome. 

Two days later, when was is slipping the lab coat over his shoulders and straightening his intern badge, he wondered how was this his life.

****’

When Derek showed up at Peter’s loft, uninvited and unannounced, Peter knew something was up even before Derek’s hands curled into his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes flashed and the question was closer to a growl than words. But Peter had become an expert in incoherently angry Derek-speak a long time ago.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about- ” Ow. The wall was getting dented if this kept up and if that was happening, Derek would pay for it. Peter had _no_ desire to lose his deposit, thank you very much.

“Stiles gave me wolfsbane.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. The boy was moving faster than he had anticipated. “And Stiles trying to poison you is my problem, how?”

Of course Peter knew that if Stiles ever did try to harm Derek, he’d likely succeed, with a side of the blame being placed squarely on the elder wolf for corrupting the poor innocent boy. But that was besides the point, the point was enjoying the way Derek’s eyebrows sunk even lower. 

“He. Gave. Me. Wolfsbane. In. A. Vase.” the words were gritted out between Dereks’ fangs, and damn it that was another shirt ruined to claw damage. “A - Courting gift.”

The sheer disbelief in Derek’s voice brought out the wolf in Peter’s grin. “And did you throw it in his face, nephew?”

Derek blushed.

“Thought so. Now, let me go.”

Derek let go and Peter frowned as he began to straighten his shirt. Yup, ruined - maybe he should start stripping off his shirt before answering the door. But no, that was far too much like his nephew, who had moved up to the living room and was glaring at the couch, nostrils flaring.

“Why does it smell like Stiles here?”

Okay, that could get a bit awkward. Because there were certain assumptions if a suit was in progress, after all. “Because he was here last night.”

Derek growled again and Peter dodged a lunge, deftly moving out of his pissed off nephew’s way. “Oh for fuck’s sake Derek!”

Peter managed to avoid being thrown through any walls - seriously, Derek was so paying for this, did he really think an apartment like this was easy to find? Real estate agents _talk_ \- and calm his nephew down. Reminding Derek that he had been the one to tell Stiles and Peter to find out what occult significance the bizarre graffiti left on the high school’s wall had. Sure, it had turned out to be a reference to a YA book series of dubious quality, but that had just meant Peter and Stiles spent the evening watching anime instead of researching, and not making out or flat out fucking like Derek insinuated. 

(The making out only ever happened once. But Derek didn’t need to know that.)

“So….” Peter drawled as he brushed dust off his sleeve. “I take it you are more than amenable to young Mister Stilinski courting you?”

Derek blushed again and made an unintelligible noise.

“Speak up, nephew.”

“... Yes.”

“Good.” Peter smiled. “You do realize the only reason he is doing this is because you weren’t making a move yourself?”

“... yes.” Derek looked away, his face again twisting with consternation and what to a casual observer would look like homicidal constipation.

“Serves you right. I’m sure he’ll be very happy when you demonstrate you can bear him strong cubs.”

 _So_ worth the concussion that followed. But Derek was still paying for the damages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter quotes "Vengance" by New Model Army


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning to minor references to canonical child abuse;  
> There were some formatting/missing chunk issues

Chris swore. The rabid magical bat-thing had escaped, again. Twice he’d caught up to it, and twice now he’d lost it…. but this time, there was a casualty.

Not human - thank God, not human - but the deer was a lost cause. Caught by a stray bullet in the hip, the ten-point buck lay on the ground, eyes glassy but still clearly alive. It only took a moment to put it out of its misery, and kneel down on the moist earth to start field-dressing the animal. It would not to do for it to have died in vain.

As the sun started to slowly come over the horizon, he realized there was no good way for him to take the buck home. The department of fish and game had been stepping up their vigilance, and with the fact that Deputy Parrish still carried a grudge over the taser incident…

Well, he thought as he carefully bagged the heart - the liver had been ruined, pity about that - wasn’t it lucky then that he wasn’t that far from the Hale house. Even without the deer, that is where he would have headed next, to let the wolves know the bat was still loose. 

Perhaps Derek would join him in taking it on tonight, despite the fact that it’s ultrasonic screech was nearly enough to make the wolves’ ears bleed. They hunted well together; something that still surprised Chris even after all these months, but the truth was that the camaraderie that had developed between them during and after the Nogitsune incident was something he’d found himself cherishing. The bad blood between their families, the bad blood between them - well, it was not easy, but they were making it work .

And that’s why he lifted the hundred and fifty pound deer carcass over his shoulder and took off towards the Hale house at a brisk pace. It was only three miles, but the early summer heat was creeping on quickly and he did not want to waste any time.

It took him roughly half an hour to get to the Hale house; the sun had come up in full, and birds were making their presence known. Chris was not quite sure if anyone would be up at such an early hour, especially since it was a Saturday, but he needn't have worried. 

Peter Hale was already up. Chris took a moment to appreciate the sight of the zombie wolf - shit, he was spending too much time with Stiles - with his shirt off, sanding one of the support pillars for the new porch. Sure it was early, but he knew wolves ran hot and knowing that Peter treated working on the house as a cure for insomnia, he’d probably already been at it for a while.

It spoke volumes that when Peter turned around, tools set aside, his face was still human despite the fact that he would have smelled the deer and blood and Argent from miles away. Possibly, had been keeping track of Chris all the way from his last encounter with the bat thing.

If his camaraderie with Derek was somewhat tentative yet, then his… dare he say friendship with Peter Hale was even more fraught with complications. Bad blood, family history, and burdens of guilt and lack of on both sides. Chris knew he should have ony hate for the monster that killed his sister; and yet, he thought as he approached the house, he’d felt relief that he didn’t have to put her down himself. 

And now, with sunlight dappling over his well-defined shoulders, Peter Hale was smirking at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t recall it being hunting season, Argent.”  
Chris shook his head and lowered the carcass. “That’s why I am here.”

“Oh really?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. I can’t take this out of the Preserve.” 

Peter’s eye roll was typical of him and all the Hales he’d known. As if a regular eye roll was beneath them, they had to put their back to it.

“So you bring it to us. Really, framing us for poaching? Isn’t that beneath you?”

“If I wanted to get you for poaching, I’d not bother framing you:” Chris knew that the pack would hunt wild game on occasion, and although the idea made him leery because _control_ and witnesses, he also knew it gave a really good outlet for the pups.

Ha, pups. Not a word he would’ve used before - well.. before this.

As he wiped his hands on his jeans - lost cause, just like his shirt - he belatedly remembered the heart. Safe in it’s ziploc bag, he’d shoved it in the pocket of his flannel shirt so it would not be too badly squished along the way.

“Here.” he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over to Peter, who took it with a decidedly strange look on his face. “The liver was a loss, I’m afraid, but the heart should be fine.”

“And it’s still warm,” Peter’s voice had an odd, almost dreamy quality that made a shiver go down Chris’s spine.

“Yes.” he replied, without anything better to say but unable to let the odd silence continue any further.

“Well, since you brought it you can finish butchering it.” Peter was still holding the heart in his hand, the odd gleam in his eyes. “You can take it out back, I’ll get you supplies.”

***

“Wow this is domestic.” Stiles couldn’t help but quip when he took in the sight of Chris Argent skinning a deer while Peter did.. something. (So sue him, carpentry was not his forte. If Peter had been under the hood of a car, now that would have been a totally different matter.) 

Argent raised an eyebrow, and Stiles belatedly realized maybe he should not antagonize a man who’s covered in Bambi’s blood up to his elbows. Well, he would have been, had he not been wearing pink rubber gloves with little rubber duckies on them. Stiles knew it was to keep blood borne disease away but still, dude, only thing missing was a frilly apron and shit he had said that out loud hadn’t he?

“Yes you did. No back strap for you, young man,” Peter’s faux-serious tone was at odds with his smug smirk and oh gross was that blood on his lips?  
“Whatever,” Stiles shrugged. “Derek up yet?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, but he’s off running. I’d say he’ll be back soon.” The wolf tilted his head, listening “I’d say no longer than half an hour, unless he gets distracted.”

Stiles nodded. “Cool. I need to talk to him.” He purposefully bit his lip, nor raising to the bait that was Peter’s arched eyebrow. Ugh. Peter knowing about… the thing… between him and Derek was the absolute worst.

The lull in supernatural activity in the past month had put a crimp on any attempts by Stiles to save Derek’s fuzzy ass. Which was weird, Stiles would never have expected to miss the constant threat of death and dismemberment or worse, but what do you know it was putting a dent on his courtship of one broody sourwolf.

He was going to have to ask Peter about it. If the saving had to involve peril, or if it could be something more mundane. (Fixing Derek’s diet to keep him from having heart trouble would not work. Damn werewolf metabolism. One of these days his dad was gonna end up asking for the bite just so he could have all the bacon in the world, you just watch.) 

In the mean time, he and Derek had actually gone out for ice cream like regular people and it had been.. fun. Cute. Stiles’s tummy was still aflutter with butterflies at just how nice it had been… but apparently because Werewolf courtship rituals were the way they were, Stiles was not allowed to lick ice cream off Derek’s nose.

Or any other body part.

_“Do I even get a goodnight kiss?”_

_“No.” Derek was mournful.”Too close to scenting.”_

_“This is so not fair.”_

But yeah he’d have to find a way to prove he could protect Derek soon. Maybe ask Deaton if his protection runes were getting good enough to help incorporate them into the house rebuild? He knew Peter was in charge of that, but Derek’s heart was just as set on the house as his.

“If you want to make yourself useful, you could always give me a hand.” Chris’s words startled Stiles out of his thoughts. “Unless you’re too squeamish to help me finish off Bambi.” 

His first instinct was hell no, but wasn’t he supposed to bring down big game to do this courtship? So, who better ask for advice than, well, a hunter? One who used guns and knives and bows and shit, not claws and teeth and supernatural super senses. 

“Sure,” Stiles said, rolling up his sleeves. “But pink clashes with my skin tone.”

Between the fact that the whole process was kind of fascinating as well as impromptu anatomy lesson in case they’d ever have to deal with fauns - unlikely, but possible - and Derek’s return, the significance of what he’d witnessed did not really hit Stiles until he’d gotten home. He’d stayed for dinner, some of the deer having become burgers straight away while the rest hung in the cellar to tenderize. Which technically meant rotting in a slow pace which was gross, but it’s not like it was the worst thing ever that Stiles had learned about stuff he put into his mouth.

And it’s not like he’d been munching on the raw organs like -

Stiles was used to his brain freaking him out so he didn’t fall on his ass in the shower when the realization hit him. _Holy shit_. Peter had consumed the _raw and still warm_ heart of the buck Argent had brought in. And he _liked_ it. (taste of his cherry chapstick…) 

Quickly, Stiles turned the water off and began to towel himself dry. No way was he contemplating that while he was naked, that was just wrong. Not ewww parents and or old people wrong though - that one time Danny had dared him to make out with Peter had been pretty fun, and if gruff and buff with a tendency to slam people into walls wasn’t his type, what the hell was he doing with Derek? And hey, healthy teenage guy here. But rather, the feeling of wrongness came from the deep set feeling that with the gift of wolfsbane he’d _committed._

...so okay maybe he should have listened to Peter a bit more closely when the wolf had told him just how serious this courting business was. But it’s not like he was opposed to the idea of spending the rest of his life with Derek - far from it. 

That seriousness was what made the fact that _Christophe Argent_ was courting Peter even more bizarre. Stiles could easily see the two of them hooking up, no problem, but this was - this was _serious._

And now Scott’s comment made perfect sense. Stiles facepalmed, and pulled on a worn, comfy t-shirt. Of course Scott would have interpreted any conversation about wolves and courtship as being about him and Allison (and Isaac. Probably. He might owe Lydia fifty bucks depending on how that one went) rather than Argent skirting around the subject of courting Peter. And it would have to have been skirting and ambiguous: Scott’s initial reaction probably would have been eww no why are you asking me, rather than getting his Alpha on and giving it serious consideration in regard to the good of the pack. 

With the fact that Argent was the one courting, that would mean he ranked higher than Peter - but, Peter was the pack elder, the oldest wolf. A fact that rankled him and Stiles rarely missed a chance to needle him about, trying to lessen the sting of loss that he knew was behind Peter’s bitching rather than his not-inconsiderable vanity. But yeah, pack elder, much important, such rank. Very wow. 

Did Chris count as a Pack Elder, too? With Allison being the Argent matriarch and therefore the equivalent of Alpha, her dad would be a shoe-in for Elder… except, Stiles realized with a sinking feeling, since Gerard was still alive and unwell in a nursing home, choking on black bile for every day of the rest of his miserable life, Chris was not the eldest Hunter. Because the fact that Gerard was still alive, his medical bills paid from the Argent coffers, it meant he had not been repudiated to a degree that would sever him from them. 

So, not Elder. Stiles knew this was not going to leave him alone to sleep until he had figured it out. If he was thinking about the Argents in non-pack terms, he’d probably consider Allison the queen and her dad her general. The women were the leaders, the men soldiers. That much Stiles knew - and that was another fuck you to Gerard and his patriarchal bullshit - so it was like, Chris was Allison’s war leader. 

Stiles’ eyebrows rose and he clambered out of bed, to get the book Peter had lent him. it talked about pack dynamics, and he could swear he’d seen something there…. 

A few minutes of frantic leafing later, he shouted out in triumph. He had it - the passage talking about war leaders in packs. it did not match up with Argent perfectly - for one, it was generally a temporary position, employed at times of, well, war - but in terms of authority, the war leader was second only to the alpha and shared responsibilities with the Second. 

Yeah, Stiles was still coming to terms with that, too. But hey, no panic attacks so that’s good, right? And it’s not like him being a human second was in any way unusual, there was plenty of precedence. With everything that went down with the Nogitsune Stiles was never going to be an Emissary, unless he fancied a face change a la Jennifer Blake, which meant that he was more deeply rooted into the pack as a human rather than an ally. And it _worked._

He checked off the steps. Alpha permission, check. Gift of wolfsbane, check. (In fact, Stiles probably owed Chris Argent a bottle of the good stuff because if he hadn’t picked that particular kind of wolfsbane to give to Peter, they would never have had their drunken bitching session that had led to Peter telling him just how to woo _his_ werewolf.) Prove you can protect your intended… 

Damn, Peter’s poker face was better than Stiles had realized. He hadn’t even twitched when Stiles had brought up the fact that his sorry undead ass had been saved from certain and messy death by said hunter - that Argent had grabbed Peter to bodily drag him out of the way of a falling shipping container. They could’ve both died horribly, but no, Argent hadn’t hesitated even for a fraction of a second to risk his life for Peter. 

How had they not noticed it before? Like, seriously, with all the time Stiles spent with Peter, and all the time Derek spent with Chris - there totally were some daddy issues getting resolved there, Stiles would bet his bat on it - and _Stiles_ spent with _Derek_ , how the hell had everyone not noticed? Hell, why wasn’t Lydia running a betting pool? 

Six months ago he would’ve said it was because Lydia hated Peter and wanted to burn him alive for the third time. (third time’s the charm, right?) But now? It wasn’t like they were best buddies or anything, but his former future wife and Peter had a tentative understanding that had been helped a lot by Lydia beating the shit out of Peter with a crowbar, and Peter helping her fix her nails after. 

Somehow being around werewolves had the kind of an effect that desensitized you to a certain level of violence. The superhuman healing meant that wolfish love taps could break bones, and throwing someone through a wall was not much different from punching your bro on the shoulder. Of course, squishy humans like himself were an entirely different thing. 

And, Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair, it wasn’t always about the fast healing either. He’d ended up sitting both Scott and Derek down, separately, to have a little chat with them about how they were being utter _assholes_ about Isaac’s issues. Because becoming a wolf might have fixed the physical remains of what Coach lahey had done, but not the mental scars. Stiles still shuddered when he thought about the way Derek had casually dismissed Isaac’s terrified cowering as a natural reaction to an alpha and nothing more sinister. 

Stiles was _not_ pack mom, thank you very much, but he took his Second duties seriously. _Seriously._

And what was it that Peter had said? _If it was someone else doing the courting, it would be your job as the Second to make sure all appropriate steps are being observed. You’d get to play the chaperone._

Peter’s sly smirk now made perfect sense. 

If Stiles wasn’t even getting a kiss on the cheek out of Derek before the courtship was over… he was going to make sure Peter wasn’t getting any, either. 


	4. Chapter 4

Nightfall found Peter at his apartment, pacing back and forth. The restless energy humming under his skin would not be released by hunting, nor violence, but he could not hold still.

What had he _done_?

He should not have accepted the kill. He most certainly should not have accepted the heart, taken it from the plastic bag - ugh - and held it in his hand, enjoying the knowledge that it had been kept warm by Chris’s body heat on the walk from the kill site to the house. 

And he most certainly should not have sank his fangs into it, devouring it raw.

Chris had laughed and called him greedy; Peter had smiled, baring his fangs and found himself fighting the urge to grab Christophe Argent by the shoulders and kiss him with the blood still on his lips.

Argent - there was no way, absolutely no way this was happening. Because there was _no way_ Christophe would follow the customs of the wolves. In fact, if Peter were to insinuate such, Chris would surely gut him. (Probably not fatally. It was disturbing how quickly the man had adapted to the roughhousing of wolves around him.) 

That didn’t mean he hadn’t _really_ wanted to kiss the hunter, though.

Looking at it as rationally as he was capable right now, with his claws flexing in and out on their own accord, Peter had to admit that if this was real, if Argent was truly trying to press suit, he would not... be disinclined to accept. Their threads had tangled together and the fabric of their lives torn and frayed a very long time ago; bound by loss and spilled blood, there wa a certain familiarity,a certain uneasy peace to his current relationship with Christophe Argent.

And Peter _really_ would like to kiss him.

He paused in front of the french doors, gazing out to the pseudo-darkness that would hold no answers. He was not going to lie to himself - Chris was not just attractive, he was _hot_. Those incredible eyes, that jaw that invited you to bite, and oh his _arms_ … Granted, Peter had only seen the man’s forearms and not the full breadth of his shoulders, but he did not think for a moment they would be anything but absolutely _breathtaking._

 _If_ they were courting, then properties would need to be observed. Such as lack of casual touching, because of the importance of scent-marking as the last part of the dance. But since they were not, in fact, courting…

Well. No reason for him to _not_ to kiss Chris Argent… except for the fact that the man would gut him like a fish. 

Peter made a decision and headed into the kitchen. A few carefully measured drops of the aconite tincture later, he had a bottle of lovely Merlot with the kick to let him relax… and not do anything stupid like attempt to booty call Chris Argent. Because that would be uncouth.

No, he would not think about the hunter and how his beautiful, strong hands would feel on his skin, or the power it would bring to his pack to bind the Argents to them - formally, with a courtship and a mated union, as opposed to whatever little drama the children were going through this week.

Okay, he actually felt bad thinking that. Scott and Allison - and really what was the story with Isaac? - had been through _hell_ , with Allison nearly dying in Scott’s arms during the time no one wanted to think about. But they were still on shaky ground, with the huntress still recovering from her injuries. He knew it had nearly destroyed both the young alpha and the elder Argent, and the thought of it made his stomach sour.

His own Malia - beautiful, tricksy Malia - was no longer in Beacon Hills. After the unfortunate death of her supposed father in the hands of the Oni, she’d nearly bolted back into the woods. Nearly. The current situation, where she’d moved into a boarding school near the border for children with special - supernatural - needs was not ideal, but it was all they had.

Peter sipped his wine and closed his eyes. Stiles had been telling Malia how she was gonna be a superhero and tell Professor X a hi from him, and she’d laughed. Laughed like the child in a young woman’s body that she really was. She wasn’t a little girl, but she was still far younger than her years because of the time she’d spent as a coyote despite the brave face she put on. 

Thus far, she’d only ran away once and they’d mostly managed to convince her that clothes were a social necessity when dealing with people. (Shoes, she was still unconvinced about and Peter could not really fault her; the carpet in his bedroom had been chosen for it’s excellent toe-wiggling properties.) With the fact that she was whip-smart, just like her daddy, her education in being educated was coming through very quickly.

it was disturbing that even now, he did not know who her mother was - the memories retrieved had not revealed that, and a very large part of him was too terrified to find out more. He had his daughter, and a tentative relationship with her that mainly consisted of snarking on Skype and care packages, but it was a start.

If Christophe were courting, then he would have to demonstrate his.. suitability for caring for cubs, as he’d already told Stiles Derek would have to do. It was highly unlikely that he and Chris would, if this were happening which it most definitely was not, have cubs of their own because of a lot of reasons one of which is the fact that neither one of them was in possession of a uterus. Of course there were alternatives, both magical and mundane, but with both of them already with daughters of their own…. and he had to admit that there were days when the way Derek was around Chris was pretty much filial for an outside observer.

It should’ve disgusted him, the mere idea of it. But as it was, Derek had never had an actual father figure in his life with Emmett's untimely death soon after Cora’s birth, and one of Chris Argent’s defining characteristics was his dedication to his daughter. The entire idea was so absurd it filled Peter with laughter and warm and fluffy feelings. He might be a given value of good now, but sane was still debatable, after all, and he would gladly laugh to keep from screaming.

Yes, the idea of Chris Argent as a mate was - disturbingly appealing. Peter refilled his glass and took another deep drink.

Maybe if he finished the bottle, he’d be able to wash the taste of the deer heart from his lips.

An hour later, it had not helped at all. He could still taste the blood and crave the phantom feel of Christophe Argent’s lips.

At least he’d… temporarily misplaced… his phone. _Dammit._

***

“You’re kidding me.” Derek stared at Stiles, wide-eyed.

Stiles grinned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively; that is, in a manner that resembled an electrocuted caterpillar. “Nope. No kidding here, this is a kidding free zone. Your uncle is being _wooed_ by Christopher Argent.”

“Cristophe.”

Stiles’ eyebrows froze mid-wiggle, his jaw falling. “What?”

“That’s his name, Christophe, not Christopher.”

“You mean like the Disney prince? Seriously, Allison is like a real life Disney Princess already but now you’re telling me her dad is named Cristophe?” This was news, this was brand new information and this is pretty golden - being able to tease Peter about his very own Disney Prince just became an extremely attractive option.

Derek tilted his head. “Shouldn’t you already know that from the police reports?”

That was true; it had been Christopher there but if Derek was saying Christophe, well, Stiles was going to trust Derek on this. “It was Christopher in those - sloppy police work, that’s never a good thing. I’ll let dad know when I take this to him.” he brandished the packed lunch, the sound of carrots rattling inside the plastic container. 

Hey he wasn’t completely heartless, there was venison for dinner, because damn Chris Argent did nothing halfway and the courting gift of the buck to share with the pack was pretty damn impressive. And okay, it was kind of giving Stiles anxiety because if that was the level expected of him, holy shit. It would have been so much easier if he’d been a lowly beta in the pack but nope. Second.

“Okay I’ll be back in a few, thanks again for the ride.” Stiles smiled and Derek and climbed out of the Camaro. His beloved Roscoe had a flat tire, and unfortunately since he’d destroyed the jack in the witch incident, and hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet… 

Once inside he found his dad in his office, bent over a pile of paperwork.

“Please tell me you’ve got a burger for me,” his dad groaned when he saw Stiles.

Stiles grinned. “Nope. Falafel, with a side of carrots.”

“At last there is garlic sauce, right?”

They bantered for a moment, and Stiles - after a small detour about how everything they knew about vampires was kinda but not quite wrong except that yeah they don’t fucking sparkle okay, he brought up the discrepancy in the paperwork.

“Derek says it’s Christophe,” Stiles said with a grin. “Mister Argent is an actual real life Disney prince.”

The look on his dad’s face was pretty much priceless. “I’ll look into that, now isn’t your ride waiting for you?”

“Yup.” Stiles popped the P and swayed a little on his feet. “I should therefore probably go before Deputy Parrish sees him.”

Really, it wasn’t really Stiles’s fault what had happened with Parrish. Nor Derek’s. But the guy could carry a grudge with the best of them, despite his sunny face. Then again with all that had happened to the poor guy, Stiles couldn’t really fault him. The pool thing would have pissed off anyone, let alone Parrish.  
Outside, he spied with his little eyes Derek standing outside the Camaro, leaning on the car looking.. shit, looking really fucking uncomfortable. Stiles’ eyes narrowed as he approached and recognized Deputy Lowe, even though she was not in uniform. Lowe had not been around that long; she’d only been in Beacon Hills for a month or so, and Stiles didn’t really know her that well yet. She was almost as tall as Derek, with broad shoulders and a strong jawline that made her pretty unmistakable.

Derek shifted further away from her and she smiled; Stiles couldn’t hear what was being said but his lip-reading had improved and he was pretty sure “coy” was used.

Without thinking he sprinted forward getting between the two of them. “Hey!”

Lowe’s eyes narrowed. “Stiles, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d back the hell off.” Stiles’ nails bit into his palms and he knew he was breathing far harder than just that sprint should’ve caused But there was something here, something not okay.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re making my boyfriend uncomfortable.” Stiles snapped, and holy shit he’d just called Derek his boyfriend in public and shit he was _calling Derek his boyfriend in public_ and within an earshot of enough people who would ask his dad what was going on and crap he really did not need to get into that line of thought right now; he glared at Lowe, who cocked her head and frowned at him.

“Aren’t you a bit young to have a boyfriend his age?” She tilted her chin towards Derek.

Stiles shook his head. “Nope.” Which was a big bold lie, because yeah he wouldn’t be 18 until November but since a proper lupine courtship would last several full moons, well, by the time he was allowed to get his hands on Derek he’d be jailbait no more. He crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at her fiercely.

Something came over Lowe’s face, then, something Stiles couldn’t quite place. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Stiles, Derek.” She nodded at them both and turned on her heel, heading back towards the station.

Stiles left out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Shit. You okay?” he looked at Derek, anxious.

Derek’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and he nodded. “Yeah. Lets go.”

They got into the car, and Derek pulled out swiftly, heading towards the preserve and the Hale house. Stiles’ heart was still racing, and he was concentrating on bringing his rabbiting heartbeat down when Derek surprised him by speaking again.

“She came over, said she recognized me. That I’ve got a reputation, and why was I hanging around.” Derek fell silent, eyes flicking to the mirrors. “But she wasn’t asking like a cop.”

Suddenly it clicked and Stiles swore. “She reminded you of….”

Derek nodded.

Fucking Kate Argent and fucking Jennifer Blake. In Stiles’ opinion, both women had gotten off lightly when they’d only had their throats ripped out (Thanks, Peter) for everything they’d done. It was good they were taking this so slow, even with the lack of any smooches, because the issues with intimacy that Derek had been left with by those two were immense. Like, made Twilight look like a healthy relationship immense. 

“So, not to change the subject but… ok so to blatantly change the subject, who is coming to the pack meet today?” Stiles asked, hoping to distract Derek from his mood. He kind of really wanted to hug Derek and it _sucked_ that because they were courting, casual affection was no longer something they could do. But if he made eyes at Peter, the zombie wolf would gladly try to cuddle up to Derek and the attempts to dislodge his uncle would probably put Derek in a better mood; no matter how much Derek didn’t want to admit it, having Peter back, sane, and not being a megalomaniac psycho was a good thing.

“Everyone.” Derek shrugged. “Mrs. McCall is bringing cookies.”

And that would explain the full attendance. Everyone who was pack and pack-adjacent was a complete sucker for those cookies. _Stiles_ was a sucker for those cookies, and he was no slouch in the baking department even if he said so himself. He’d have to make sure to bring some home for his dad, else he’d be grounded for _life._


	5. Chapter 5

Allison munched on a peanut butter cookie, eyes half-closed in bliss. Cookies were something neither she nor her dad were any good at baking, and these? Were pure unadulterated perfection. She made a noise that had Scott and Isaac perk up, and in return her dad glare at the two of them, sitting side by side on one of the couches.

Stiles, seated between her dad and Peter, was gesturing animatedly - when was he not? - and talking about his research into kelpies (and no, no way was Deputy Parrish one, not after what happened at the fishmonger’s) and other aquatic lore. Sure, they weren’t on the coast, or even near major waterways, but there was always the possibility of something showing up because, well, when did something not show up?

Allison reached out for another cookie - they were _almost_ as good as her mom’s - and frowned. It was odd that Stiles wasn’t sitting with Derek. In fact, the two of them had had this strange distance for a while now, with a lot less touching than she was used to between the two of them. It was almost like post-breakup, lets try to be friends kind of distance where you try to act normal but stop yourself from touching at the last moment, except nothing about anything else had changed. It was.. odd. 

She watched Peter put his arm over the back of the couch and Stiles elbowing him mercilessly until he pulled it back, before it could loop over the young man’s shoulders or the fingers brush against her dad. They seemed still comfortable enough with each other, that a part of her was almost wondering if something was going on there. She _had_ seen the pictures from Danny’s birthday bash, after all.

But no, that just didn’t feel right.

Stiles was interrupted by Mrs. McCall’s pager going off. They all said their goodbyes, thanking her profusely for her cookies and Peter stood up to walk her to the door.

If Allison hadn’t known Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff had been spending a lot of time together she would have wondered about that. And about how zen she was about this whole Peter Hale is good thing now, but it is funny how serious injury and near death could put things into perspective. Take happiness where you can, with whoever you can. Life is too precious to waste.

She’d told that to her dad, too. She knew he still missed her mom something fierce, that it was an ache that would never go away fully. But, if there was someone who might make him happy.. then she wanted him to go for it.

… Except, she realized, he was watching Peter walk Mrs. McCall out with just the tiniest frown on his face and oh god no that was the one thought she did not want to have in her head, like, ever. Because what she felt for Scott had never been and never would be sisterly, so their parents hooking up was an idea that just felt wrong on all possible levels. 

Once Peter returned and Allison hid a frown at the smile that nearly came on her dad’s face.

Clearly, she needed another cookie. Or several. Because she was _not_ sulking about having to sit out the hunt for the rabid bat-thingy… which had ended pretty ignominiously when the bat had managed to fly straight into an electric fence and the Sheriff’s department had an eye out for potential rare animal smugglers.

“At least it beats gangs on PCP.” Isaac snorted. 

And with that, the official pack-and-pack-adjacent business was concluded. Allison smiled. She really enjoyed what was coming next.

_“In every generation, there is a Chosen One…”_

Season 2 was the best season. Everyone knew that. And one day she, was going to convince her dad to let her use a rocket launcher.

**

Peter was going to _murder_ Stiles. Or worse. Like switch his coffee to decaf. Despite his werewolf healing, the indignity of Stiles’ bony elbow on his side still smarted. It’s not like he’d been trying anything.. juvenile, but apparently Stiles had made it his mission in life to put himself between Peter and Chris. Literally.

Now, granted, the mental image that painted was pretty but seriously, what did Stiles think he was doing? Since it was not like Christophe was actually courting him, there was no need to observe proprieties and so if Peter wanted to touch him he could.

(Except for the part where he would be gutted like a fish.)

But because Stiles was a little shit, Peter took the chance when the boy headed to the kitchen between episodes to fetch more popcorn. There was a _reason_ yawn and stretch was a classic, after all.

He did not expect his nephew to clamp a hand on his wrist when he tried putting his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers tantalizingly close to the nape of Chris’s neck.

“ _Et tu_ , nephew?” 

Derek’s eyebrows did a thing but he didn’t smile. “I don’t think Stiles would like where your hand is going.”

Chris turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Derek?”

Now, Derek smiled and Peter fumed. If the brat dared to say anything to Chris, he would not hesitate to go for the kill and bring out every. Single. Embarrassing. Naked. Childhood. Photo. (The Hale archives were not the only thing on his laptop. There was tons of blackmail material on Derek and Cora and… he would not go there. Not today.)

The decision was averted by Stiles re-appearing and plopping down on the couch, indeed, between Peter and Chris like the great wall of China. “Chill, sourwolf, I got this.”

The look of utter adoration Derek shot at Stiles was completely and utterly cavity-inducing. Peter was going to murder them _both_. Really, he should have Melissa and the Sheriff over for dinner (And invite Chris too, of course, this was after all a grown-up meeting because they were all _so worried_ about the pups) and share a few anecdotes from Derek’s childhood. Yes, definitely the one with the soup tureen.

He was not certainly considering how appropriate it would be to demonstrate his… nesting abilities… to his suitor in the presence of the Pack’s adjacent human Elders. Absolutely ridiculous, the whole idea. 

They’d set a three episode limit to these sessions; even though it was summer, there were responsibilities to attend to. And, for those who were absent (like Melissa, today) it would be easier to catch up on. No one wanted a repeat of the Monday morning incident from March.

Stiles cornered him before he could leave. “So I want to ask you a thing.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? From the way my side feels, I didn’t think you were in the mood for _favors._ ”

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry about that, dude, but you know my elbow’s bruised and you just got phantom pain. It’s - it’s about the courtship.”

Peter tilted his head and put on his Respectable Pack Elder face. Which was only slightly less put-upon than his annoyed pout. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Stiles licked his lips, bouncing a little on his toes. “About the - protecting Derek part, does it have to be from mortal danger? Or does something else count?”

“Afraid to die all of a sudden, are you? Never stopped you before, despite… how did you put it, you’re hundred and forty seven pounds of pale skin and sarcasm?”

“Dude, I have magic now, not just my biting sarcasm. And I’ve actually gained muscle from running around with a bunch of supernaturally strong _werewolves_ so that’s a hundred and fifty four pounds, thank you very much!”

Peter smirked, verging on a leer. The boy would never be bulky, but he knew that under those layers was a set of surprisingly strong shoulders. His nephew was a lucky man.

“To answer your question, no, mortal peril is not required but putting your ass in the line is.” There was a subtle shift in Stiles, and Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

Stiles looked away, shifting his weight from foot to foot. There was a small blush spreading over his cheekbones, quite fetching really. “Well I might have told one of Dad’s new deputies she was making my boyfriend uncomfortable so she needed to back the fuck off.”

Well, well. Things were getting _interesting_. “Rebuffing an unwanted suitor?” 

“Yeah I guess so. I dunno if I was in any danger though, it’s not like Lowe could’ve wailed on me for getting in her face,so okay she’s got like thirty pounds on me and could crush me like a twig but we were in public and she _knew_ who I am and dad would’ve had her hide for putting a finger on me, not that she would because dude, dad doesn’t hire psychos. She wasn’t being a creeper or anything - and I’d know with you around - just coming on too strong for Derek to be okay with it ” 

Peter let Stiles prattle on, thinking about this one carefully, hearing what Stiles was not saying. That woman had reminded his nephew enough of that _bitch_ that he’d frozen, and Stiles had acted without thinking, putting himself between Derek and the threat. Unwanted suitor, indeed - one who could have conceivably gotten Stiles into trouble because sure, a former murder suspect loitering around the station, _not suspicious at all_ to someone who was new to Beacon Hills and didn’t know how Stiles and the rest of the pack.. and pack-adjacent.. people tended to treat both the station and the hospital where Melissa worked at as if they had access all areas passes. 

“Not all danger is physical, Stiles.” Peter clasped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Being a white knight can take on many forms.” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. . “You saved Derek from a situation where his martial prowess could not help him, which could have resulted in very bad things. I will refrain from referring to him as a damsel in distress, but…”

“What, you think Derek wouldn’t want me to be a Disney prince?” there was something gleeful in Stiles’ expression, mixed with relief and happiness and not a small amount of pride.

Better nip that at the bud. “Since you publicly stated your intentions. I take it you’ve talked to your father since?”

Stiles faltered and flushed scarlet. “... No.”

Peter’s smile was diabolical. “Well, I suggest you do so soon.”

Two down, two to go. His nephew’s courtship was proceeding beautifully. Stiles would treat him _right._

***

Once upon a time, the mere idea he’d voluntarily sit down to have dinner with Peter Hale would have had Chris questioning his sanity. Now, though? He didn’t think twice when he’d accepted the invite, asking if Peter wanted him to bring anything.

_“No need to go poaching again, Christophe, I have this covered. “_

Peter had _insisted,_ and apparently done the same to Melissa and the Sheriff, therefore keeping the former from bringing her peach cobbler over for dessert. It would have been a minor upset, had Peter’s finishing note for the dinner been an absolutely _sinful_ tiramisu.

Chris was.. not surprised, actually, that Peter was an excellent cook. The entire meal had been absolutely scrumptious, from the bacon wrapped date appetizers to the slow-roasted tomatoes and creamy risotto that accompanied the lemon pepper chicken.

“So, Peter, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” The Sheriff put down his glass and looked at the wolf, his expression serious.

Peter tilted his head and smiled, a perfect picture of innocence. “I assure you, Sheriff, no matter what Chris may have said, that chicken came from the butchers’ and not someone’s coop.”

Chris did not blush. No way.

The Sheriff blinked. “I was not aware that was a concern, but thank you. No, it was about what your nephew is doing with Stiles.”

Chris was curious to find out what was going on, too. He’d been harboring a suspicion that something was going on there for a while now. The time he spent with Derek consisted mostly of companionable silences. not emotional heart-to-hearts.To be frank he wasn’t sure whow he would have reacted had Derek said something about Stiles, since he found hinmself having enough of a headache with Allison and -

“Actually, it’s more what Stiles is doing with Derek.” Peter’s voice was smug as he leaned back in his chair. “Your son is the one doing the courting.”

“So they’re dating?” The Sheriff frowned. “Stiles is seventeen.”

Peter shook his head. “Not dating. Courting. Like a werewolf engagement - it’s a series of rituals, with set roles and rules. There will be nothing untoward happening until they’re complete. Not even a kiss.” 

The Sheriff was very sceptical. “Really.”

“Really. Scent-marking your intended is the last step of the process, so until then casual touching is heavily discouraged. The two of them have been courting for a few moons now, with the second step just completed. “

As far as Chris was concerned, this was fascinating. Despite the extensive knowledge of werewolves and their lore, he’d had no idea about any of this. Peter wasn’t going into detail, just giving very broad strokes description of how it was all highly ritualistic and intended to make sure the couple would be strong and suited to each other. Not to mention, in it for more than just a quick fumble.

Peter looked at him then, as if reading his mind, but he didn’t say anything, just smiled. As if daring him to admit his ignorance, or to make a fool of himself.

Well, better to stay silent and be thought a fool than speak up and remove all doubt. Chris stayed stubbornly silent as Peter assured the Sheriff that no, Stiles would not be in any danger - any more than usual - and no illegal activities would be engaged in.. as long as they waited for the hunting season. 

The mention of hunting season perked up his interest. Of course, that would explain Stiles’ interest when he’d brought the buck to the Hale house. The boy… damn, they were discussing what was essentially Stiles getting engaged, the _young man_ would be a quick study if he wanted to know how to bring down game instead of supernatural beasts.

“You better believe I’ll make him wait till hunting season,” The Sheriff was saying. “After the taser incident -” he looked at Chris meaningfully - “There’s been a big crackdown on poaching.”

Chris shrugged unapologetically. “At least we jump started the crane.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having major feels after the finale, so have a long chapter, lovelies <3 lets stay strong till June! Again, massive thank you to Inouken for all the cheerleading!

Stiles had just finished Skyping Kira when his dad knocked on his door jamb. “Busy?”

“Nah,” Stiles swiveled around in his chair. “Was just talking to Kira, she and her mom will be back before school starts, but not in time for the barbecue. Which sucks cause I know her mom has promised to bring Peter some stuff he was really looking forward to.”

Stiles was a bit jealous of the epic let-us-go-back-to-our-roots, mother-daughter-kitsune-bonding trip Kira and her mom had gone on after… After. But only slightly. And they would be back soon, if not in time for the back to school barbecue at the Hale House. It had been Stiles’ idea, one that everyone had heartily agreed to. Even Derek.

Speaking of jealous, Stiles had eaten at Peter’s before. “How was dinner?`Peter poison anyone?”

His dad shook his head. “No. And he made chicken.”

“Lemon chicken?” Stiles’ mouth watered at the thought: “Damn, he pulled out all the stops didn’t he.” and, also, he thought smugly, cooked something that fit the dietary parameters set out for the Sheriff to obey.

“Yes he did. And he told me something interesting, about what you’ve been up to with Derek. About this werewolf engagement of yours.”

 _Shit_. “Dad…” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He _knew_ he should’ve told his dad by now, about the fact that he and Derek were kind of dating, except you know way more serious, but there hadn’t seemed to be a good moment to bring it up with a side of being kind of terrified that this could be the last straw, no matter how much better their strained relationship had become once his dad got clued in to all the supernatural goings-on in his town.

“First I had Deputy Lowe ask me if I knew you were dating an older man. At least, this time it wasn’t Peter - “ both men shuddered at the memory of the incident at the noodle bar - “But when she told me you called Derek Hale your boyfriend, I knew this wasn’t another misunderstanding about Pack.. things.”

Stiles licked his lips. “Um yeah. I did call him that although it is not technically accurate since we’re not dating, we’re, um, courting which is like very weird and very Victorian werewolf thing and it’s kinda like - “

“LIke you’re engaged?”

“Yeah. “ Shit. “Dad I really wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how to.”

The Sheriff sighed and shook his head, stepping into the room. Without a word, he wrapped Stiles into a hug and Stiles lt out the breath he hadn't’ realized he was holding, and leaned into his father’s embrace.

“I get it, kiddo,” he said softly into Stiles’ hair. “It’s okay. I always knew you’d marry young, ever since you first saw Lydia Martin.”

Stiles laughed, blinking away tears he didn’t remember shedding. “Probably thought it would be a girl though.”

“Certainly didn’t expect a male werewolf. It’s not something that matters. As long as you’re happy and treat him right.”

“What, no threatening to shoot his furry ass full of wolfsbane?”

“Son, I trust you to make your own decisions. And what Peter said about this - courtship, you’re the one doing the pursuing.”

“If you’re implying that I should treat Derek like a girl…” and wow with that Stiles was treated to a mental image of Derek in a dress and heels; something, he decided, needed to be brought into reality once the courtship was done and he could take his _intended_ , no, his _mate_ to the Jungle to meet the ladies.

His dad pulled back, his hands warm and solid on Stiles’ shoulders. “No. Never that. Just treat him well.”

Stiles smiled. “You know I will, dad.”

His dad returned the smile. “So when’s the wedding? _After_ your birthday, I believe.” 

“Yup.” Stiles popped the P. “November full moon is when we’ll c… celebrate.” he barely kept himself from saying _consummate_. “The first full moon after the last step. It’s Beaver Moon, which is good - it’s about storing warm furs and preparing for the winter. At least here in North America, if we were in Finland, November would be very bad. Death omens. October is Hunter’s Moon and that’s just plain wrong for us, but depending on how long Chris and Peter take, that would suit them perfectly, but since they’re that much further ahead than us I’m guessing they’ll fall for Sturgeon Moon or Harvest Moon…”

Stiles trailed off when he realized the flabbergasted look on his dad’s face was not just a reaction to his verbiage. “Dad?”

“What was that you said about Chris and Peter?”

Stiles grinned. 

****

Peter took it back. Getting drunk with Stiles was not the worst idea ever. Cooking dinner for Chris Argent was.

The way the man licked tiramisu off his fork had been enough to give Peter more than a pause. It was embarrassing to the point of crippling, and had there been other wolves present, the scent of his predicament unmistakable to their senses, there would have not been a limit to Peter’s mortification. But thankfully both the Sheriff and Melissa were plain human. Well, for now anyway. Melissa would make an absolutely amazing wolf, _gorgeous_ and strong. There was a _reason_ he hadn’t just kidnapped her to force Scott’s hand but had, rather, attempted to woo her. But next to Chris… 

_God_ , that _mouth_. And the small noise the man had made at the first forkful… Peter had fought the urge to make the most embarrassing satisfied noises himself, at the fact that it was something he’d created with his own two hands was bringing that much pleasure to his.. no. No, no, no. Christophe Argent was not his suitor, not his intended, in fact, the entire idea was absolutely, utterly laughable.

He had kept an eye on the hunter while explaining to the Sheriff - with some judicious editing, of course - what Stiles and Derek were doing. He was quite glad the boys had had their run-in with the Deputy; if Stiles had still been in the position to seek out mortal danger, Peter was certain the Sheriff would have found a way to put a stop to the courtship. No, the next hurdle for the boys would be for Stiles to hunt - and waiting till the hunting season began would only be appropriate, as paying respect to the law of the land when not in direct conflict with wolf tradition was an important aspect of being a strong, stable Pack. And not attracting hunters.

And that was not a good thought to have; Peter did not need to think about attracting a very specific hunter. There had been _no_ reason to go clothes shopping - other than the fact that Lydia’s presence was always a treat - for new jeans that framed his ass to pure perfection. Such a shame it was not the season for cashmere, he quite enjoyed the look that encouraged… stroking. Yes, stroking. Not petting. 

No attracting hunters. No thinking about Chris Argent. Who had not reacted one bit to Peter describing the courtship to the Sheriff, who’d shown mild academic interest at best and mentioned his willingness to help Stiles with learning to bring down game, with no reference to the buck he’d presented to Peter..

No, Chris Argent was not courting him. And even that meant that there was no reason for _him_ to not to pursue the man, it was out of the question. Gutted. Fish. And most certainly he was _not_ going to sulk or mope and be _disappointed_. Because he had _not_ allowed himself to hope that this was real, that Christophe had put aside the mire of blood and ashes that lay beneath them to see Peter for who he truly was, not just the series of masks and the spectre of his past actions.

Not disappointed. At all.

Choosing to lace another bottle of red wine and sink into his couch to watch _The Notebook_ was completely, utterly coincidental. And he most certainly did _not_ call Lydia at two in the morning to complain and cry.

Because he was _not_ disappointed. 

***

It was late July when Stiles ran into Deputy Lowe again. This time, he was on his way to bring his dad lunch (Harissa chicken and chickpea salad) when he spotted her just inside the station.

Derek had told him about another run-in with her and Stiles intended to have words.

“Hi, Deputy Lowe, got a minute?”

She gave him a long, speculating look, a small frown between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Sure, Stiles. What is it?”

Stiles rocked back on his heels. “I’d rather not talk out here, can we go somewhere private?”

The look he received from her was decidedly hostile, and wow, her eyebrow game really was strong. “Of course. I think the archive room is free at the moment.”

Yup, Stiles knew that. Thursday, so Martha was having lunch with her sister in law. Archive room was good, even with the new cameras, installed in the wake of the attack of the kanima. “Lead the way.”

Once they were inside the archive room, Lowe leaned against Martha’s desk and crossed her arms over her chest and looked Stiles straight in the eye. “Let me guess. This is about your boyfriend.”

Stiles nodded, squaring his shoulders and meeting her eyes.. “Yeah. Derek told me you talked to him.”

Lowe’s expression didn’t change. “Did he now?”

“Yeah.” Stiles licked his lips, shit, this as going all wrong. “He told me what you said. That you’re sorry you made him upset and asked if he was okay.”

The look on Derek’s face had been completely and utterly bewildered when he told Stiles what Lowe had said. _I noticed Stiles was acting pretty possessive. You know that just because he’s the Sheriff’s kid, just because you’re both guys, that you don’t have to put up with anything you’re not okay with, right? If he’s doing something to hurt you-_

Stiles inhaled deeply. “I wanted to say thanks. Because it matters. That you - that you apologised to him, and you were looking out for him. I would… I would never do anything to him but that doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re willing to help. That you _talked_ to him. ”

Lowe’s eyes had grown wide and the hard set of her jaw had relaxed, Stiles wouldn’t say she was gaping at him but it was close.

“Look, Derek’s been through a lot.” Stiles swallowed, pushing back the bile that rose in his throat at the mere thought. “And I get really protective about him, so just - thanks. Because people should ask those kind of questions more often.”

Lowe relaxed, then. “Right, well.. you’re welcome, Stiles. Everyone tells me you’re a good kid, even if you have a tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And that you’re only seventeen.”

 _Not to mention I’ve framed Derek for murder multiple times._ Yeah, Stiles definitely did not fault Lowe for thinking things could be sketchy. “Yeah well I know that doesn’t mean a lot, people always say someone couldn’t have done something when they have. But I’m not - I don’t want to say I treat Derek right cause that is a really archaic phrasing and kind of gross, but I try to be the best boyfriend I can. And he’s doing the same, we’re not.. well, we’re waiting till I’m eighteen to do _anything_.” to get werewolf-married, but that was besides the point.

The smile that came on to Lowe’s face was thin-lipped, but it was a smile. “Now that we’ve cleared this up, you should take that to your dad and I should get back to doing paperwork.”  
Stiles nodded, relieved. “Yes Ma’am.” 

Lowe chuckled. “Just call me Em.”

Stiles grinned. “Sure, Em.”

His dad was waiting for him when Stiles made it to his office. “So I saw you ducking into the archives with Deputy Lowe. Looking for something?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nope! In no way was I taking advantage of Martha’s lunch with Michelle to sneak a peek into any files. No way Jose. Just had a chat with Deputy Lowe, that’s all. She’s cool, for the record.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Just as long there’s no… incidents.”

“Hey it’s not my fault Parrish now has a phobia of eggplants!”

*****  
****

“I should be more comfortable with this. I run with wolves. I have beaten a troll to death with a baseball bat, for fuck’s sake. But… I just don’t feel okay with this.”

Chris gestured at the array of hunting weapons laid out on the table. “So none of these?”

He’d laid out a selection of guns and bows, various knives for Stiles to peruse. Weapons suitable for going after natural game. Stiles had asked and he’d gladly offered the kid a lesson in how to bring down a courting gift for Derek. It was going to be a bit more difficult than a regular hunt, since the heart had to be intact, after all.

For a moment, he remembered the buck he’d brought to the Hale house a few weeks back. A buck like that, would make a magnificent courting gift. The heart had been intact and gleefully consumed by Peter, so obviously they were a wolf delicacy. It was a bit disturbing, in retrospect, how undisturbed hed been by Peter’s fangs sinking into the bloody flesh, the fiery look in his blue eyes.

So perhaps he’d been thinking about Peter a bit too often lately. But that was only natural, since all of the parents in the group had started spending more time together, and Peter was a honorary member courtesy of being Derek’s uncle. (And everyone knew that had Malia stayed in Beacon Hills she would have been neck-deep in everything alongside the rest of the kids.) And he felt bad for Peter; Melissa and the Sheriff were growing closer by the day, and he was pretty sure the wolf still carried a torch for her.

Stiles picked up a knife and twirled it around efficiently. The kid had a frightening affinity for short blades, something that had appeared after the Nogitsune but Stiles was not happy to explore. Chris could not fault him for that.

“It’s like, I’m not the full frontal assault guy, or the sniper guy, i’m the magical cheerleader guy and let’s just not think about Sailor Moon in this context. I don’t - I’m not a predator,” Stiles gestured with his free hand, his expression distressed. “There’s a reason why I never learned to shoot even though my dad is the Sheriff.”

Chris nodded. It made sense. “I would say you’re more than a cheerleader, Stiles,” he said gently. “But I understand if you think this is not going to work. There are other ways, there’s traps…”

“No traps.” Stiles’ voice was firm. “I remember what happened with Isaac.”

Chris nodded. “I thought you’d say that. Now, there is another option if you’re not comfortable with the guns and the bows, relying on your stealth and skill…”

And that is how Chris realized he was essentially going to be teaching Stiles the kind of skills he might end up regretting this in the future. But, if it meant that Stiles could continue his pursuit of Derek, and since it might come in handy, it was a risk he was more than willing to take. Especially since combined with the magic Stiles possessed, it would get results. Scent-masking and night vision were just ´few of the things the kid could do.

But that was something to be explored on another day. For now, he had a different exercise to start Stiles off with.

“Dude, seriously? A training dummy with bells?”

Chris shrugged. “You have thirty seconds to remove as many as you can without making noise.”

“You stole this one from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

The hunter smiled. “Begin.” 

He had to admit, he enjoyed teaching Stiles. Allison occasionally joined them, giving Stiles pointers and trying to persuade him that yes, crossbows were in fact _awesome_ and he should go for that instead of this, but Stiles would not be swayed. And he was a good student - sure, he was mouthy, but he asked good questions and took this seriously.

Even then, it came as a surprise that on the _very first_ day of the hunting season, shortly after noon Stiles made his way to the Hale house, pulling a makeshift sled made of pine branches behind him. On the sled was strapped an eight-point buck, it’s throat neatly slit. He didn’t doubt for a moment the deer had felt nothing, becalmed by Stiles’s magic.

It was too bad neither he nor Peter had a camera; the awestruck look on Derek’s face when he accepted the still-bloody heart was one of a kind, full of adoration and openness rarely seen in the young wolf. Chris felt a twinge of probably misplaced pride that he’d helped this happen. If one day Allison had that look on her face… 

He glanced over to Peter, who was leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed across his bare chest. August sun was merciless, and the wolf had once again been working on the house tirelessly. Chris knew that for all his protests that physical labour and work of any kind was beneath him, Peter took enjoyment in the rebuilding. It wasn’t a penance, but it was something that calmed Peter, made him more of a man than beast.

He suddenly remembered Peter’s bright eyes when he bit into the deer heart, all those months ago and his heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t help but imagine what that look would have been, had he actually offered the buck up as a courting gift. Knowing Peter, it would have been even more smug… before he threw the heart down and rejected the _Argent_ who’d dare to assume he’d be receptive.

Next to him, Peter tilted his head questioningly; he must’ve heard the stutter in Chris’s heartbeat.

“Wish I had a camera,” Chris said truthfully, nodding to where Derek was picking the buck up with ease.

Peter smiled, a real, honest smile. It... looked really good on him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! And the chapter estimates have changed, again. 
> 
> this chapter contains references to the Stiles/Malia making out in Echo House and the lack of informed consent within , as well as fatherly going overboard with protectiveness

Malia had missed home and her bed _so_ bad at the boarding school. Sure, it was nice there and the people got stuff, but nothing beat curling up in her very own nest, hearing the sounds of the Preserve all around her.

She was still half-asleep when she smelled her father and heard his slow approach till he grouched at the entrance to her home.

“Malia, darling,” he drawled, “I know it’s comfortable there but I have a bubble bath and a pile of pancakes with your name on them in the house for you.”

Malia yipped questioningly.

“Yes, with blueberries. Lets go?”

Malia yipped again and got up with a long stretch and a shudder that went all the way from her nose to the tip of her tail. There was something stuck in her fur, but it would disappear when she changed back. And then there would be a bath, and clothes. Sigh. But at least her father didn’t make her wear shoes.

It was still odd, to think of the wolf as her father. But when…. everything happened, he had been there, to pull her out of the darkness and back into light. He’d held her and called her all the beautiful words in the world, instead of recoiling in horror like her adoptive father had, before… before.

She loped alongside him towards the house. It was warm out, and beautiful, and she wished they could go running in the Preserve together, but she knew it was too dangerous. It was hunting season, now.

True to his word, he’d made sure there was a hot bath waiting for her, as well as fluffy towels and a clean set of loose-fitting clothes. The house was not yet fully finished, but she wasn’t much caring about the aesthetics. There was hot water. With bubbles.

There were also pancakes once she emerged, barefoot but wearing clothes, a towel wrapped around her still-wet hair. There were blueberries and whipped cream, and Peter sat across from her with a mug of coffee and a look that passed for concern on his face.

“You know, if the party is too much for you we can always go sit it out in the woods.”

Malia shook her head. “No, dad,” the word still felt alien on her tongue when spoken to him but it was not as odd as it had been. “I can handle it.”

So okay, it was the entire McCall pack and their various hanger-ons, and she’d be the lone coyote amidst wolves and foxes and humans and oh my. But she would be okay - amongst those humans was Stiles, and Stiles was her favorite. Her protector. He’d been there when she’d been - confused, with the Nogitsune and the sudden return to a human body that was all kinds of grown-up.

So okay she’d hated him and punched him and then they’d made out in the cellar of Echo House and shed kinda had a crush on him for a while but that was besides the point. She was _so_ over him now. Besides there was that girl at school…

But for now, Malia concentrated on the pancakes. Because they _were_ awesome.

Slowly, others began to arrive to the house. Derek was the first, coming back from a long run in human form across the Preserve. Malia still wasn’t sure what to make of her gruff cousin, but Stiles really liked him so Malia had decided she wouldn’t let Derek’s broody moods scare her. 

“If you try to steal her pancakes, she _will_ stab you with her fork. You have been warned.”

Malia smiled at Peter’s words and Derek’s indignant expression; she brandished her fork when he looked at her plate, and growled.

“I would not…”

“Yes you would, so shut up and sit down. Stiles is coming over soon, too, so you’re all getting pancakes.” 

She could smell the confusion on her cousin when he did as he was told, and a plate piled high with pancakes was placed in front of him It was really adorable, and she could see why Stiles liked him so much.

“Don’t get used to this,” Peter warned him. “I’m doing this for Malia. And Stiles. I think I can hear the jeep already.”

He was right - Malia could hear it, too, although she didn’t know the sound well enough to say for sure if it was Stiles or not. But soon enough, the car stopped in the yard and she could smell his familiar scent.

Stiles was the first, but soon others started to trickle in. Allison and her dad were the first to show, and although the scent of hunter still scared Malia, Allison was really nice and her dad? Made dad smell happy so she didn’t mind. 

By two o’clock everyone had shown up, even the Sheriff, and the party was at full swing. Malia was sitting in the shade of the porch with Lydia, sipping fruit punch and talking about school. It felt nice, talking to someone who understood about both the whole supernatural thing and _boys_ and how _horrible_ they could be.

“So any boys giving you trouble?” Lydia quirked an eyebrow, one perfectly manicured nail circling the edge of her glass. Malia was jealous; shifting totally destroyed a manicure so she had given up on nail polish.

Malia shook her head. “No. There was this one guy who told me he liked me and I… I let him kiss me but it sucked. He was all gross and sloppy.”

She didn’t realize her dad had heard her until he was right there, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Boys are horrible creatures, and even kissers, sweetheart. You shouldn’t kiss any of them any time soon. But I’m sorry your first experience was not as perfect as you deserve.”

“It wasn’t my first kiss.” Malia shrugged, feeling a small brush creep on her cheeks. She had never told anyone about it. “My first kiss was good so I don’t care Klaus was sloppy. Stiles is a great kisser, Daddy.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Her father said and Lydia hummed in agreement. Then suddenly the hand on her shoulder withdrew as if burnt, claws coming forth. “ _What did you just say?!”_

“Dad?” Malia turned and blinked. Her dad had shifted, eyes blazing blue, claws and fangs out.

_“STILES!”_

****

“Well that escalated quickly.”

Chris was standing with Stiles’ father in the shade, a half-drank bottle of beer in his hand. He was certain the Sheriff would have had more sympathy towards Peter and his fatherly rage - which Chris certainly understood - if not for the fact that in the ruckus that had followed Malia’s revelation, it had become known that Malia was not the only Hale who’d ended up making out with Stiles. 

_“Hey you also gave CPR to Cora, gotta catch ‘em all!”_

_“Not helping, Isaac!”  
_  
Not far away, Peter was holding an ice pack to his head while Melissa tutted around him, murmuring about how werewolf healing was not an excuse for blatant stupidity. He didn’t look happy about the attention which surprised Chris. He’d have expected Peter to play up the sympathy angle the best he could, after Derek had put him through a window (One that Peter had been working on, to add insult to the injury)   
“If I had known, I would not have been so lenient about letting Stiles spend time with him.” The Sheriff glared at Peter, whose eyes were now closed and head tilted back as Melissa picked shards of glass from his hair

Chris nodded. “I wouldn’t blame you. Peter is…” He wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence. Peter was complicated, he was…

“Peter.” the Sheriff finished for him before he could finish that thought. “So how are things going between you two, Christophe?”

“It’s odd to hear anyone but him use that name.” Chris admitted, twirling the bottle in his hand. It had been so long since anyone had used it at all, and when Peter had picked it up as casual as anything, he’d found himself not minding anywhere near as much as he thought he would. He still preferred Chris, for simplicity’s sake. And because Stiles was getting in far too many Disney prince jokes. “He’s the first one since my mother to use it.”

The Sheriff’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I always thought it was Christopher?”

Chris shook his head. “It’s…that’s what Gerard called me,” he admitted. “Ever since my mother passed, he would not call me by the name she chose and he disapproved of.”

His mother had been an amazing woman; kind and gentle despite the core of implacable strength that defined an Argent matriarch. She’d been dead for nearly thirty years, now, ever since Kate had been born. If she hadn’t died, then maybe... no. that was not a train of thought he could allow himself, not today.

“I understand. Stiles’ mother named him, and was the only one to call him by his full name. I never learned to pronounce it quite right. He hasn’t been okay with anything but Stiles since then. Ever since Claudia, nothing’s been the same” The Sheriff’s voice was regretful, the memory of his wife still clearly a sore spot.

Chris took another deep pull of his beer, a phantom ache rising in his chest. He knew it had been a lot longer for the other man, but he did not think that the space in his heart where Victoria had dwelt would ever quite heal.

“It was an arranged marriage,” he found himself saying, staring into the trees. He didn’t know why he was telling the Sheriff this, and why now. “But… I knew I’d marry Victoria when I was twelve, and I never looked at anyone else.” Well, not seriously anyway - he hadn’t dated, hadn’t gone to college and done the hook-up thing, but Victoria had made it clear to him, back when they were still teenagers too young to legally marry, that whatever happened on hunts, whatever form the adrenaline rush and crash after took, it was fine. She’d looked after him, and he could not imagine a life where he would not have loved her as much as he did till the bitter end.

Chris knew she had loved him just as much, and would want him to go on, to be happy - but the sheer weight of the idea seemed far too heavy to consider, despite Allison’s urging.

His eyes strayed to Peter. He wondered if the fire had claimed a wife, a child - he didn’t know, and the idea both unsettled and disturbed him. Peter was an enigma wrapped in too-tight shirts that showed off all the unblemished, healed skin and the physique that had fought off the fire and the coma, something Chris realized he wanted to unwrap.

“So, since you’ve had experience... you’ve got a pretty good handle of all this - courtship stuff?” The Sheriff asked gently.

Chris shook his head. “No. Neither one of us was presented with much of a choice, it was all arranged between our parents. If we’d found each other utterly disagreeable, then alternatives would have been sought. But since we did not…”

“I see. I was wondering if Stiles would be able to ask you for advice, if it came to that.”

Chris shrugged, and finished the bottle. “Sure.” he might now know wolf rituals, but… he knew long engagements.

**

_I swear to God, Peter, if you drunk dial me one more time…_

Lydia was going to strangle Chris. Whose bright idea was it to give that wolfsbane that allowed for werewolves to get drunk to Peter? The guy wore skinny jeans, of course he would be an insufferable drunk. Who kept calling _her_ of all people to cry about his boy trouble. Hell, _Malia_ was more mature about the girl she liked than Peter!

Lydia made a mental note to call the school on Monday, to ask them about fraternization policies and what they had in place to prevent sexual harassment from occurring between students. Just because a girl could rip out the throat of someone whose advances were unwanted did not mean she’d be psychologically capable of doing so. Lydia knew all about that. 

She had the school staff terrified of her, and it had nothing to do with her Banshee powers. They had at first mistaken her for a prospective student when she went on tour with Peter (because no, she was not going to trust him to know a good school from a hole in the ground) and Peter for her father. She’d quickly disabused them of the notion and lets just say she was familiar enough with werewolf body language to know that the admissions officer was _cowering_ before her by the time she was done quizzing him about their science education and where they stood on applying latest research into the curriculum.

Because it was not all about teaching Malia how to behave like a human again, after all. And sometimes she wasn't sure _Peter_ knew how to behave like one on a bad day. She knew it was illogical, but she felt a responsibility towards him - she’d brought him back, so she’d keep him in line. 

And okay, taking out all her frustration and pain with a crowbar had been amazing. But the fact that when she’d collapsed, crying over her damaged nails - _something_ had to be the last straw - he hadn't’ spat blood at her and laughed; he’d crawled up, and asked if she wanted him to help. That he’d done it for his sisters, before. The human ones - as Erica had often despaired, werewolf claws and manicures did not mix.

As a result of his actions the night before, Lydia was almost late for her dinner with Allison and Chris. Peter had called her at two in the morning, and she’d found herself unable to fall back asleep until six. She’d overslept, and had her entire day thrown into disarray. If he would even think about doing this to her once school started in three days’ time, she’d gut him with a crochet hook.

Dinner at the Argent household could be just bit of an adventure, and it wasn’t because of the constant cloud of supernatural or the weaponry scattered everywhere for quick access. No, it was because Lydia knew both Allison and Chris were not inclined towards cooking. 

Really, Lydia was pretty certain Peter’s fears were completely unfounded, Chris would probably gladly werewolf-marry him for his cooking alone. The lasagne was pretty good, and the side salad excellent, but it didn’t hold a candle to Peter’s cooking. No one had been surprised to discover that the “discerning palate and a love for finer things in life” (translation: Peter was the pickiest of all picky eaters) had been behind the dedication Peter showed in the kitchen. Too bad his fashion sense was not as finely honed - would it kill him to wear a shirt with a collar?

Not that anyone with a pulse and an inclination towards guys was complaining about the neck he showed. Certainly not Chris, who seemed to share the same inability to button his shirts up all the way You’d think that a hunter would not want to expose their throat, but no. Lydia certainly didn’t mind the view - she’d pegged Chris as a _total_ DILF the moment she’d first laid eyes on him and, hey, a girl could look even when said DILF was the father of her BFF and a deeply wounded individual who was courting the previously homicidal werewolf that had came back from the dead riding the girl’s psychic coattails. It would make one hell of a Lifetime movie, that’s for sure.

“So, Chris,” she asked during dessert. “How are things for you and Peter?” 

Yup, from the way Chris’s eyes lit up at the mention of the wolf she could tell Peter should stop worrying and enjoy being wooed. Maybe torture Chris a little - after all, there were only so many times you could stay at home watching The Notebook, your man should be able to take you out on the town to have a lovely time. _Without_ anyone being shot at, clawed, mauled, threatened, or dragged feet first through wet hedges.

She was still _very_ unhappy about the ruined Versace dress. Sure it hadn’t been Aiden’s fault, but when it came to worst dates ever that one _almost_ beat the Winter Formal. Almost. 

Chris shrugged. “Pretty good. I’m meeting him later this week to discuss the preliminary security schematics for the house.”

Lydia smiled. “That’s so sweet.”

She knew that as much as Peter loved his apartment - and she couldn’t blame him - the Hale House was _important_ to him. The fact that Chris was helping him with the rebuild, helping him with the protections… well, it was sweet. Maybe not textbook courtship, but sweet.

Chris coughed. “If you say so.”

Lydia grinned, and from the corner of her eye saw Allison roll her eyes. She knew that expression well. She wore it herself every time her mom had a date.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Work + life have been happening, and I'm a bit under the weather. Hope you enjoy, and huge thanks to Inouken <3  
> Also, if i butcher actual police procedure in this chapter, i'm doing it no worse than the show, right?
> 
> Additional warning: This chapter features near-drowning right at the beginning.

The water was cold. Too cold for end of September, too cold for the _fucking_ arctic - and it was everywhere around him, heavy and leaden and dragging him down…

_Not like this!_

Pressure burning in his chest Peter only briefly contemplated the irony of death by water when he’d come back from fire twice before an invisible hand _yanked_ him up into the air, sending him tumbling down the bank like a rag doll.

He coughed, wet and deep, air rattling painfully into his lungs as the cool air hit his skin. He shuddered, bone-deep, his claws coming out as he raised his head to see how the pack was faring. 

it was Sitles’ magic that had yanked him out of the lake. The lake was nearly frozen over, the fucking _trickster dolphin, what the fuck was a dolphin doing in a freshwater lake_ having taken a human form battling against Derek and Scott.

Oh, it was the Brazilian exchange student. That.. .would explain a lot.

Another violent shiver tore through Peter. his teeth chattered and with numb hands he began to strip. The boys had the fight well in hand, and he had no desire to find out if a wolf could contract hypothermia.

And suddenly there were warm hands on his shoulders, helping him out of his waterlogged shirt, yanking it over his head in one smooth motion. Peter struggled out of his jeans, his shoes lost to the lake already, not looking behind him where he could _feel_ the warmth radiating from Christophe Argent. 

His teeth were still chattering when the hands left his shoulders and he _whined_ , only to gasp when there was warm fabric wrapping around him, those strong hands tugging his arms and sliding a shirt over his head.

The scent of _ChrisChrisChrisChrisChris_ was overwhelming; the shirt was old, comfortable and worn, gun oil and wolfsbane mingling with fresh sweat and _blood_ on the collar. Peter inhaled deeply, eyes closed and _did not swoon backwards_ into Chris’s arms. No, he stumbled - he would never admit to anything but, folding into the hunter’s embrace and seeking his warmth. 

“I got you,” Chris murmured in his ear and Peter _whined_ again as strong, _warm_ arms wrapped around his chilled body. Chris was clad only in an undershirt that left his arms and shoulders bare, and Peter’s mouth went dry.

Chris Argent had a gorgeous tattoo on his shoulder, and if his teeth hadn’t been chattering so hard still, Peter would have licked it, audience be damned. Instead, he buried his face in Chris’s neck, inhaling deeply.

_Chris. Safe. Want. Yes._

Peter closed his eyes again, letting himself luxuriate in the hunter’s warmth, bathe in his scent.Slowly, his shivering began to ease as the cold began to recede, Peter’s trembling body leeching Chris’s body heat with every passing heartbeat.

“I got you,” the hunter repeated softly, hot breath brushing against the still-cold tip of Peter’s ear.

“Yes,” Peter murmured into the crook of his neck, “You have me.”

**

Stiles stared, slack-jawed. Until now he hadn’t really gotten why scenting was the last step - he’d thought it would make way more sense at the start of the courtship, but boy did he _get_ it now. 

The picture painted by Chris and Peter’s actions was - _amazing._

It should have been ridiculous, Peter half naked and dripping wet, shivering and clinging to Chris like a limpet. But the way those - tattooed, who had expected that? Not Stiles, that’s for sure - arms wrapped around the werewolf’s body, the content little noises Peter was making muffled by the fact that his face was buried in the hunter’s neck… they looked like they _belonged_. It was _beautiful_.

Stiles knew this was it, the laying of claim in front of witnesses - Scott the Alpha, Allison the Argent Matriarch (who was pouting because Scott was sitting on top of a confused fifteen year old boy who insisted he’d just been _playing_ and why were they so _mean_. A fifteen year old who apparently was some sort of a magical dolphin shapeshifter on top of being an exchange student, and she’d ended up pretty much standing on the sidelines of the first fight she’d ended up coming along to since… since) and most of the others.

Hey it’s not like they’d _known_ all this shit was caused by a bored kid, one who was due the mother of all lectures from the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall. (Chris would definitely not be in a state to interact with anyone who was not Peter from the looks of it.)

“ _Finally_.” Lydia sighed from behind him. “He’s been taking his sweet time taking the last step.”

Stiles frowned. Why would they wait? they had been so much further ahead in the process that he’d been waiting for this for ages, now, he’d predicted they’d be done courting by… right. . “I think I get it. Next full moon is Hunter’s Moon.” 

Lydia nodded. “Of course.”

Traditionally, this would be when anyone with an objection from the pack would raise them - because this was it, the public declaration of _mine_ and _yours_ and _together_ , possession and surrender that ran on both sides of a werewolf union. Watching Peter sway in Chris’s hold, the utterly blissed out, content look on his face as Chris’s hand carded through his hair, Stiles could not imagine anyone objecting to the two of them being together.

Stiles glanced at Allison. She was probably the one with the most reason to be against this, but the look on her face was not one of anger or displeasure. She looked - almost vaguely confused, like she hadn't’ expected this.

As far as Stiles knew, there had never before been a situation where an alpha and a matriarch of a hunting family were involved, so unlike her dad, Allison had no rules or guidelines (which was probably good, because Isaac. Maybe. He was still clinging to his fifty bucks) when it came to Scott.

“Come on, guys,” he said softly. Scott and Derek were already frogmarching the young _Encantado_ away. “Lets get out of here.” _And give those two some privacy._

***

 _“I got you.”_ Chris wanted nothing more than brush his lips against Peter’s wet hair, to reassure himself that the wolf was safe, that the water hadn’t claimed him when the fire had failed to do so - twice! - that…

He wanted too much, but he couldn’t let go. And with the way Peter clung to him, he didn’t mind this, didn’t mind Chris holding on to him, wrapping around him to chase the cold from the spell away.

He was only dimly aware of the fact that Scott and Derek had brought the _Encantado_ to heel; a lapse in judgment he would berate himself for later, right now he was concentrating on the werewolf shivering in his embr… in his hold, the way Peter was nuzzling him, his face buried against Chris’s neck. 

Chris wanted - _no_. Peter deserved better than that, better than letting the fact that he needed to be warmed up serve as a prelude for something more, something fast and fleeting. He deserved better than just a post-action fumble, he deserved…

Peter made a noise and Chris couldn’t help it, he tightened his hold of the wolf, fingers carding through peter’s damp hair. “I got you,” he whispered again.

_And I don’t want to let you go._

He knew he would regret it when Peter came to his senses. He did it anyway, letting his lips brush softly across Peter’s temple where the skin was still clammy, still chilled.

They needed to get out of here, out of the woods. The lake was not that far from civilization, but a quick glance told him that everyone else had already dispersed, to take care of their dolphin problem.

It was hard to think logistics when Peter kept rubbing up against him, practically purring. He’d never known wolves could make that sound but he’d never dealt with one at risk for hypothermia before.

Chris made up his mind. “Don’t struggle,” he warned Peter and slowly moved to scoop the wolf up in his arms. He expected Peter to protest vehemently, that he was not going to be carried around like a child, or a blushing bride since Chris had brought him up as if about to carry him over a threshold - but Peter’s legs were cold still, and he was not going to treat the wolf like a deer carcass.

But Peter didn’t protest; the fact that he threw an arm around Chris’s neck and snuggled closer was worrying. Was Peter going into shock?

“Not that far,” he reassured Peter. The SUV was not far, but by the time they made it there Chris’s arms were already starting to feel the burn. Peter, like all wolves, had an enviable physique, all muscle and lean strength.

At least it wasn’t Derek, Chris mused as he struggled to get the door open and get Peter inside. Derek made Peter look narrow, and from all the times he’d seen Peter with his shirt off, the wolf was anything but. Chris didn’t doubt that under different circumstances, Peter would feel - no. Not thinking about that.

Peter’s head lolled back against the headrest, his eyes closed. But his lips were no lojnger blue, and his breathing was even.

Chris sighed n relief. that was a good sign. “Want me to put on the heating and go get your clothes?`” he asked softly. he knew Peter was particular about his things, and no doubt would be upset if his stuff was just abandoned in the forest.

“Don’t go. Take me home.” Peter’s voice was breathless and his hand curled around Chris’s bicep, tugging the hunter close “Please.”

“You have to let go so I can get around to get in,” Chris said softly. “I can’t climb over you.”

“Such a gentleman, Christophe,” Peter’s voice was a purr as he shifted on the seat, pulling his feet up to the seat.

“Always,” Chris said softly before he closed the door, making his way to the driver’s side door and taking extra care to turn on the heated seat to make sure Peter stayed warm; even then, the wolf _flopped_ \- there was no other word for it - towards him.

If he had his arm around Peter as he drove, well, no one else would know.  
He thought about taking him to the Hale house as it was the closest, but he knew the renovations were at a point where he wasn’t sure there’s be anywhere warm enough for Peter to recover. His own house was obviously off limits - Peter would not appreciate coming to his senses in hunter territory, allies or not.

So, Peter’s apartment it was.

Chris got lucky; no one saw him bringing Peter out of the car, again in his arms because Peter was still disinclined to walk. No one in the elevator, either, but when they reached Peter’s floor he realized there was a problem. He didn’t have the keys, which were most likely either in Peter’s jacket - in Derek’s car - or in his jeans - which were in the forest. If they weren’t at the bottom of the lake.

“Knew I should have gone back for your things,” he murmured into Peter’s hair, and felt the wolf laugh softly

“Spare key,” Peter’s voice was low and full of amusement. “With… “

A door opened into the corridor and reflexively Chris moved, letting go of Peter - but making sure the wolf had his feet under him - and spun around, going for a weapon.

Maybe he was overreacting, but Peter was - vulnerable right now, and had enemies by the truckload.

A woman in a deputy’s uniform had stepped out of one of the apartments and was now looking at Chris and Peter with an expression of concern.

Chris swore under his breath. He knew this looked bad - and he didn’t recognize her, she had to be one of the new additions to the department. He took in her relaxed stance, strong jaw and sculpted eyebrows and made note to look her up - there was something around the eyes that made him think she could be related to Araya. 

_Damn._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting the chapter total AGAIN... oops. Thanks again for all the feedback, folks!

The guy who had been manhandling her neighbor was now trying very hard to look like he hadn’t been going for the gun strapped to his thigh. If she hadn’t recognized him from the station, Em would’ve pulled her own sidearm and demanded some answers right about now.

Even so, Argent looked like trouble. Em knew he was a federally licensed gun dealer and a personal friend of the Sheriff, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he looked like a thug wearing a just a wifebeater despite the late September chill, showing off a tattoo and scars. (and very nice arms; hey she was a cop, not blind) There was a _reason_ this guy’s mug shot was on the board under “ _Most concealed weaponry at time of arrest_ ” even if the charges had been dropped.

Peter was - well, Peter was pretty much hanging off the man, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. His hair was damp and he was clad only in underwear and a loose shirt that hung off his frame, leaving his long legs bare and covered in goosebumps. 

“Deputy Lowe,” Peter said in a throaty purr. “How good to see you.”

“Peter,” Em nodded carefully. “Everything okay?”

“Mm-hmm. I don’t have my keys, I’m afraid.” 

Okay, that made sense. She’d heard the elevator earlier; Peter must’ve come out to greet Argent and gotten them locked out. Nothing sinister - except for the fact that Argent had been pushing Peter around. Or just greeting him enthusiastically - both were possible. “Want me to get the super for you?”

“That won’t be necessary but thank you for asking,” Peter’s smile was full of charm as he procured something from behind Argent’s back, a small back case. “We’ve got a… spare.”

Em wasn’t born yesterday. She recognized a lock-picking kit when she saw one, but since the apartment belonged to Peter, it did not count as B&E even if the kit belonged to someone else. And, knowing Argent’s ties, she couldn’t get him on it.

She resolved to get a chance to talk to Peter at some point, without Argent around. Maybe she was a busybody, but she knew that too many people closed their eyes when they saw something sketchy. Hell, sometimes she wondered if she’d come to Sunnydale, not Beacon Hills - there was something weird going on here. Beyond just normal small town stuff; she would know, being the daughter and granddaughter of a small town Sheriff herself.

“RIght, I will leave you to it, then. Peter, Mr. Argent.” She did not miss that Argent flinched at the mention of his name. Interesting. She made mental note of the fact and turned on her heel, heading towards the elevator.

Parrish had promised her to tell her all about the taser incident if she ever wanted to know. Since they were having lunch today, Em just might ask him all about it.

She hit the button for first floor and settled into the elevator. As the doors closed, she saw Peter draping himself over Argent’s shoulder, murmuring something too low to hear as Argent began to expressly pick the lock one-handed, the other curled possessively around Peter’s waist.

*** 

The door swung open noiselessly and the feeling of home settled on Peter. He sighed with contentment, curling even closer to Chris’s side. Warm, safe, _Chris._

When Chris went to grab the throw from the couch, Peter growled. “No!”

“Are you sure?” Chris frowned. “That thing is pretty warm..:”

“No!” Peter repeated vehemently, curling a hand around Chris’s neck as he rubbed his face against the hunter’s shoulder. He didn’t have it in him to articulate that the throw smelled of guests, mainly of Stiles, and right now everything that was not _ChrisChrisChris_ was like acid to his nose. It had been bad enough to run into his pretty neighbor who smelled of burnt caramel and gun oil, Peter wanted nothing but the smell of him and his mate around him. 

Chris did not hesitate to lead him to the bedroom. Peter made a noise when his chilled toes hit the soft, creamy carpet, pausing for a moment to wiggle his toes in it, a look of pure bliss on his face.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Chris said roughly and Peter allowed himself be led to his bed, unmade since this morning’s call for help had roused him too early for comfort.

With more grace than he would've expected from his still-chilled limbs, Peter crawled into bed and under the covers. Were he human, he was certain he would be far worse off since even his werewolf healing was combatting the sub-zero water.

Chris was standing next to the bed still, a strange expression on his face. “I should…”

“You should kick off your boots and join me, Christophe,” Peter grinned. “I am still quite chilled.”

_And not yet covered in your scent._

The shirt helped; the shirt which Chris had wrapped him in, wrapped those strong, glorious arms around him, in front of the pack. Had not pulled away when Peter had nuzzled his neck, rubbed into him…

 _I got you_.

He’d been wrong. Christophe had known exactly what he was doing, and he’d won Peter over. Clever, clever boy - if he’d been obvious from the start, Peter would certainly have laughed in his face but this? oh, it was _insidious_. It was _perfect._

Chris’s expression remained indecipherable when he bent down to unlace his combat boots and to remove his holster before he sat on the edge of the bed. He grasped the edge of the sheets gingerly, as if afraid, and Peter could not blame him: He could smell the tinge of arousal creeping into Chris’s scent, the edge of forbidden fruit. The idea that they’d have to wait to consummate was _excruciating_ , but they had come this far. Peter had _ideas_ about how to skirt around that - but for now…

“I know you will be a complete gentleman, now get under the covers. I am cold.”

Chris obeyed, and Peter made another satisfied noise as he wrapped himself around the hunter’s rigid form.

“Better,” he purred. It was not ideal; Chris was still wearing far too many clothes, and Peter knew he was still armed. But, it was also endearing in its own way, the hunter’s willingness to forgo his own comfort to make sure Peter was safe when they rested. It was _adorable_. And _hot._

Hesitantly, Chris turned to put an arm around Peter’s body, and another contented sigh left the wolf’s lips as he wiggled closer, to make himself comfortable. Christophe was an _excellent_ pillow as well as a hot water bottle despite the fact that he was still so awkward, so stiff, unlike when he’d embraced Peter on the shore, when he’d been nothing but confident. 

Within minutes, Peter was asleep.

****

It had been a long time since Chris had shared a bed with anyone in any capacity. Not since -

Not since Victoria.

And here he was, with a werewolf curled up in his arms, snoring softly. It was cute and endearing and it should have felt _wrong_. But it didn’t. Having Peter right here, in his arms, it felt _right_ , it felt like… belonging. As if this was where they were both meant to be,

Chris knew it would not last. Peter would wake up, the shock of hypothermia would wear off and kick the hunter our of his bed. No matter how good it felt now, how much a part of him wanted to do more than just hold the sleeping wolf, to kiss him awake and see if the bed was as sturdy as it looked.. he could not do that to Peter. 

If someone had told him not too long ago that he’d be thinking _Peter Hale deserves better than this_ he would have laughed incredulously. The mere idea was preposterous - the man was a _monster_ and not because of the werewolf aspect. But that had been before Chris had gotten to _know_ the man behind the grief, the person left behind once death had purged the insanity from the fire.

Peter was a ridiculous diva, fiercely protective of those he deemed worthy, intelligent and witty, with a wealth of knowledge and experience both martial and arcane - and an amazing cook, with a great taste in movies and a very eclectic taste in music. All that came with a dark side, cutting words, constant scheming, violent inclinations and mood swings - but it was not as if Chris did not have his own dark burdens to bear.

The wolf had a new lease on life, and he deserved far better than Chris taking out his frustrations and loneliness out on him. He deserved someone whose mere name was not a brand of pain and betrayal, a reminder of everything Peter had lost because of Kate.

Peter made a soft noise and burrowed closer to Chris, long nimble fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Chris wondered what Peter was dreaming about, to look so happy, so relaxed. It was… a really good look on him.

He wanted to stay so badly. To be there when Peter’s eyes fluttered open, see his sleep-mussed smile, watch him slowly wake and demand coffee in bed. But he knew that would not happen. He’d be lucky if Peter’s first instinct upon waking would not be to tear out his throat with his teeth.

They were friends. This much, Chris could say without hesitation now. The past few months, slowly growing closer, the dinners with the rest of the pack elders - again, it someone had told him a year ago! - the slow, quiet times when they’d not speak but just stand there watching the pack play, all those times it was the two of them teaming up when the pack split to face a threat.

But this.. this was not who they were, this could not be who they were.

Silently, Chris extradited himself from Peter’s arms. It would do neither of them any good if he stayed here, so he ignored the bereft noises the wolf made and stood up, careful to tuck the covers around Peter so he’d stay warm in Chris’s absence.

He’d go get Peter’s things from the woods and get Stiles to give them back. He didn’t think Peter would appreciate any reminder of this, of having appeared weak in front of anyone, let alone a hunter. Especially in front of Chris.

Chris leaned down to brush his lips against Peter’s brow one last time and made sure the door locked properly behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, huge thanks to Inouken <3 
> 
> This chapter is longer, but you may have to wait for an update for a little while after this...

Stiles winced as he heard his dad’s voice through the office door. Damn, poor Armando was seriously getting an earful from the Sheriff. i>Irresponsible, juvenile, endangering yourself and others…

Yup, Dad was in full on lecture mode. 

They couldn’t exactly arrest the guy for using magical powers, but they sure as hell could make sure he’d know better than screw around. Araya’s hunters still swept through the area periodically, which was a good thing because sometimes you needed the sheer numbers, and they owed Chris _big_. But, they were also a danger for anyone supernatural who didn’t know how to behave, case in point, Armando Almeda. Brazilian exchange student and a budding _Encantado._

How did a Brazilian river-magic-using kid end up with ice powers anyway?

“His mom is from Tierra del Fuego.” Lydia said, the _duh_ in her voice implied. 

“Right, like I knew that. Wait, how do you know that? Wait, you’re Lydia, you know everything.”

Again, the duh was implied. Then again, he should've known she'd know it from the BHHS welcoming committee stuff for new students. 

Another fifteen minutes of lecturing passed; Lydia had to leave, but Stiles was confident they’d be able to see Armando off to his host family without any trouble between himself, Derek and Scott. The two of them had gone outside, because apparently there was someone in the drunk tank whose scent was making the both of them nauseous indoors. (Stiles made a note of that. Werewolf senses being overcome with cheap cologne was not something he’d expected. He might subject Scott to experimentation.)

Stiles smiled when he saw Deputies Parrish and Lowe coming in, talking in low voices. “Hey guys,” he said brightly. “Dad should be done soon. There was this kid who was doing stupid shit and dad’s giving him a lecture of a lifetime, don’t think the kid thought this would happen when he came over from Brazil to study in Beacon Hills High School but hey them’s the breaks, when you’re pulling stupid pranks and get _caught… “_

 

He rambled on, but noticed there was something tight about Em’s expression. “Um, what’s up?”

She smiled, distracted. “Oh, nothing important, Stiles. Are you waiting for your friend?” Em nodded towards the Sheriff’s closed door.

“Not a friend but yeah, I’m waiting for him. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.” 

“That’s good of you.” Em smiled. “Parrish here was telling me about the taser incident.”

Stiles winced. “That was not my fault!”

It most definitely had not been his fault. If it had been anyone’s, then it would have been Derek and Chris’s, with Kira as the cheerleader, and had prompted her mom to take her on that epic journey of self-discovery. Unchecked electrical powers were _bad._

“So I’ve been told.” her smile was soft when she glanced at Parrish, and wowza, Lowe and Parrish? Stiles could see that, yeah, he totally could see that. They were standing pretty close to each other.

“I’m just at the right place at the wrong time a lot,” Stiles said cheerfully, trying to distract away from the taser incident. He really hoped she wasn’t asking about the eggplant thing - he didn’t know what Parrish’s excuse was, because no way would saying anything about the… thing.. with the eggs.. eugh, the mere idea made him queasy, be an acceptable explanation for a phobia to someone who wasn’t… you know.. in the know. 

Not that Lowe would stay that way long. Stiles was pretty sure that the deputies who were in the know - not that anyone knew that there was an in to know to be in, it was all very hush hush but with the Oni attack and everything else, well, there was probably a betting pool Stiles was banned from as to how long till she found out. She was a smart cookie, so she probably would, but Stiles would prefer to keep her out of it - keep her safe - as long as possible.

Before Stiles could say anything more, the door to his dad’s office opened and a very contrite looking _Encantado_ stepped out, the Sheriff’s hand heavy on his shoulder.  
“Right, come on Armando, I’ll give you a ride home.” Stiles smiled at the kid, and what was his life, he was only two years older than Armando and yet he felt absolutely ancient and grown-up, like, more than most of the Seniors did towards the masses. ‘

He knew Lowe would wonder why Armando’s parents, or rather, his host family since he was an exchange student wasn’t involved, but since his dad was beckoning the deputies into his office, Siltes knew it wasn’t his problem any more. Instead, he looked Armando in the eye.

“Learned your lesson?”

“Yeah.” the kid’s voice was glum and he looked down at the tips of his still-wet sneakers.”Listen, I - “

“No talking.” Stiles shook his head. “Not here. Come on, we can talk outside.”

Derek and Scott were waiting for them. Derek had his arms crossed across his chest and was doing the (ridiculously attractive) looming thing, whileas Scott looked painfully earnest as Stiles herded the sulking dolphin boy over to them.

“Right, Flipper, you’ve already gotten the lecture from my dad, but lets just add on a few things…”

It was about an hour later that they parted ways, with Scott having taken it on to himself to take Armando to see Deaton Stiles was on his way to his Jeep when he saw a familiar SUV pull in and frowned. What was Chris doing here?

The hunter got out of the car and smiled, an expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Stiles.”

“What’s up? Did something happen? Where’s Peter?” Possibilities began to race through Stiles’ mind, none of them good. “Is he okay?”

“Peter is asleep,” Chris said and Stiles could detect a hint of a blush. Oh. _Ohh._

“And you’re a gentleman,” he grinned. “A real Prince Charming.”

Yup, that was a definite blush. But it made sense, since they’d been so stringent about following the courtship, if Peter had gone to bed, Chris wouldn’t have joined him since they couldn’t actually consummate until Hunter’s Moon. (Hey, Stiles had kissed Peter. He knew the temptation Chris had to be facing, only, it had to be so much worse for the poor guy.)

Chris was holding a plastic bag, which he now thrust in Stiles’ direction.

 

“What’s that?” Stiles eyed the bag warily.

 

“It’s Peter’s things, I went back to the lake to get them.” Chris didn’t quite look at Stiles.

 

Wow, so Chris had taken Peter home mostly naked? Daaaaamn. Stiles grinned and took the bag. “And I’m getting these because…?”

“I was hoping you could return them to Peter. Something came up.” Chris’s voice was low and serious: “I think one of your father’s deputies might be a plant.”

Shit, shit, shit. “Who?”

“Lowe.”

 _Shit._ “Plant for who? And how do you know this?” Stiles’ mind was already racing, parsing information he had aout Lowe against known threats, shifting through every single interaction they’d had up to and including… “She was talking to Parrish. He was telling her about the taser incident.”

Chris winced. “I think she might be one of Araya’s. There’s family resemblance around the eyes, and the way she holds herself.”

Stiles swore. Great, just great. If Araya was going behind Chris’s back…

“I’ll look into it.” The hunter said. “In the mean time.. can you get these back to Peter?”

Right. The still-wet clothes in the bag. “Sure. Why not do it yourself though? Afraid of the big bad wolf?”

Chris just sighed. “Thanks, Stiles.”

Neither one of them noticed Lowe witnessing the conversation from the doorway, a thoughtful look on her face.

***  
Peter woke up to an aching emptiness.

Chris was gone; no sign of him in his bed, or anywhere in the apartment except for the shirt Peter still wore, the scent of the hunter embedded deep in every fiber. The scent that lingered in Peter’s bed, on his skin… but no Chris.

If not for the shirt, he would have thought it all a dream - the dolphin, the water, the cold, _Chris_ \- who had _not_ been showing up in his dreams a lot recently, thank you very much - but the shirt proved that _something_ had happened.

Peter thought he had known what had happened. He had believed - he’d let himself _have faith_ and _trust_ Chris, that everything that had passed between them ever since Chris threw him that bottle of aconite tincture had _meant_ something. That Christophe Argent had laid his intentions towards Peter bare in the eyes of the Pack, under the eyes of Alpha and Matriarch both…

What a fool he had been!

Peter snarled with rage, tearing the shirt off his body and throwing it aside. How dare the hunter play him thus? Because that’s what Chris had done, led him on, fooled him, pulled him along until now, at the very last precipice, he’d pulled away once he’d known Peter had let go.

It was devious. It was insidious. It was a crippling humiliation, a cruel and unusual punishment - something Peter had not considered Argent capable of. Too straight-laced. Too honorable. Too much his mother’s son, unlike his father’s daughter.

He had been so _very_ wrong. 

 

Peter wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage, to howl, to rend everything in sight into shreds if he could not tear Argent limb for limb for this. But the rage did not come, the anger did not surge forth.

The anger could not overcome the grief of losing what could have been. 

For the first time in a very long time, Peter Hale cried.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the door of the apartment open. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours - or even days, based on the stiffness of his limbs and the dryness of his throat. His face was swollen, and he cursed - he looked like an absolute hot mess, it would not do for anyone to see him like this…

“Peter?” Stiles’ voice came through the bedroom door questioningly. Of course it would be Stiles, the boy had _acquired_ a key not too long ago after all.

He didn’t bother responding. Soon enough the bedroom door creaked open and Stiles peered in. “Peter? Shit, Peter!”

“Leave me be,” Peter muttered as Stiles barged into the room. “Just go.”

“Oh hell no, you’re a mess. What happened? Do you need me to get Chris for you?”

“No!” Now, at the mention of the hunter, the rage came forward again. Peter’s eyes blazed, his fangs and claws coming out, shredding the pillow he was clutching in a shower of goose down.

“Wow, okay, did.. what happened?” The concern in Stiles’ voice would have been touching at any other time, but right now Peter wanted nothing to do with the boy. With anyone.

“Shit, did Chris, did he.. do something?”

Peter shuddered at the implication in the boy's voice, the sheer misery and confusion in his scent. “It turns out I was gravely mistaken about his intentions in the light of our recent interactions.”

Stiles got it immediately. “You’re saying he _Carrie’d_ you ? Shit. Is his corpse here? No wait I saw him he asked me to bring you your stuff, the belt is a loss by the way so you didn’t kill him, that’s more restraint than I thought you would show but that’s good because there may one one of Araya’s people in town, Deputy Lowe…”

Peter laughed, a hoarse, bitter sound. Of course, Argent would have assumed. . “She lives three doors down and is no hunter. “

Attractive, athletic woman with multiple firearms moving into the building? Of course Peter had offered a hand with the boxes to get a chance to take a surreptitious sniff - and there was no trace of wolfsbane or mountain ash, no rowan or herbs. Nothing _other._

“Okay then that’s good, are you sure you’re okay?” 

There was a hand on Peter's’ shoulder, and he had to admit Stiles was brave, approaching him when he was like this, his breath harsh and his claws still out.

“Just leave me be, Stiles.” Peter whispered. _I need to lick my wounds in peace._

****  
Em scrubbed a hand over her eyes and groaned She’d been at this for too long, and for what? Because an overheard - if lipreading could be counted as such - conversation between her boss’s son and her neighbor boyfriend.

Except, her neighbor boyfriend? Was a licensed arms dealer, who’d recently moved from an active agent of Argent Arms International to a consultant role after his wife’s death. (Ruled a suicide, except Em had seen the coroner’s report and wondered. It took serious strength to push a knife through a ribcage from that angle, and there had been no hesitation marks.) 

When he’d arrested on a murder charge - alongside the Sheriff’s son’s boyfriend, Derek Hale - he’d been carrying multiple firearms, several blades, the infamous taser that had a voltage so far over the legal limit it _had_ jump started a crane, and a few other items that would have put him behind the bars on a concealed carry violation so hard had the arrest not happened at his own home. The charges had been dropped at the Sheriff’s discretion, and the murder, still unsolved, was lumped together with a series of Yakuza-related killings. (Not to mention, the money used to frame him was pocket change to Argent. And yet the guy looked like his clothing was one step above army surplus…)

Christ, they’d had guys in masks with swords attack the hospital. It was like something out of an action movie, only, this was for real. The station, too - and apparently it was all because _someone’s dog was poisoned._ Or possibly a wolf - the veterinarian consulted had been very tight-lipped about the canine in question. It was the stuff Cracked articles were made of .And then there’d been _the bomb..._

Hell, Argent’s daughter had been stabbed in an attempted carjacking that night. It all seemed… too neat.

She was certain there was more to it. After all, there was a reason Derek Hale had had murder charges dropped against him three times now, including a round of murders where the culprit had been Argent’s sister, who’d been coming after her accomplices from _burning down the Hale house with the entire family inside._ Christ. Argent had shot a cougar during that mess, at a _parent-teacher night_ without as much as a slap on the wrist for being in breach of California schools’ no-gun policy.

It was _madness._ Especially since she knew her neighbour’s last name was _Hale_ , too. If she was not mistaken, this was the uncle of Derek Hale’s who’d been in coma for years, then gone to Switzerland to spend the insurance money on the best plastic surgeons money could find. Damn good ones - she’d seen most of him, and she’d seen to trace of third degree burns. 

There was only one logical conclusion she could draw here. Argent had a reason to believe someone would plant an undercover operative not just next door to his boytoy, but _within_ the Sheriff’s department to get to him and his operation, whatever that operation may be. With the knowledge that the Sheriff and Argent were friends, hell, Argent’s daughter was dating the Sheriff’s girlfriend’s kid… the same kid whose father was the FBI agent who’d tried and failed to get the Sheriff impeached. 

When you added in the Sheriff, and the Sheriff’s son - who had been present at far too many crime scenes even for a curious teenager, from the animal attacks to having been at the station when a kid who’d nearly been drowned by bullies went Columbine, to having been at the hospital when the Yakuza marched through, held at gunpoint to use him as a shield. Not to mention, the restraining order against the DA’s son. The Sheriff’s son, who was dating Derek Hale and from what she had seen, was a mouthy, possessive little shit. _Who had been the one to pin the first set of murders on Hale._

Em closed her eyes and concentrated on inhaling and exhaling for a long moment. This was - not good. She had nothing but conjunction and a half-heard conversation, no concrete proof, not even a good explanation to why someone with Argent’s connections would be in Beacon HIlls. Up until two years ago, he’d travelled frequently, not just within the US, with his wife and daughter in tow. But ever since the death of his sister and his wife…

Em groaned. She wanted to talk to her dad. He’d know what to do, how to clear her head about all this. But of course, this was the week he’d taken off to go salmon fishing with his buddies, no interruptions unless someone was dying.

That just meant she had five more days to figure out what was going on here before she spoke to him. And to make sure she stayed safe. Because no matter what this was, if it was organized crime or some sort of a bizarre Manson family situation...all those unsolved “animal attacks” were starting to look a lot more worrisome now.

One thing was sure, though - she definitely needed to have a chat with Peter Hale.

***

First thing Stiles did when he left Peter’s apartment was to call Mrs. McCall, to ask her to come check on Peter. Just to make sure there were no ill effects from his trip into the lake. Peter would probably be okay with her, since Mrs. McCall was pretty much the pack mom - the Mother of the Alpha, and a medical professional. Plus, she and Peter had bonded after she’d slapped the living daylights out of him, just like Peter and Lydia.

If Stiles didn’t know better he’d think Peter liked beautiful women beating him bloody.

The second thing he did was to call up Derek, since he was about to do something _monumentally_ stupid, and he was going to need backup. 

Some part of him noted that he had never expected to be this _fucking pissed_ because someone had hurt Peter. Because _Chris_ had gone out of his way to toy with Peter’s emotions. He’d pretty much left Peter at the fucking altar and that was - _it wasn’t right._

The betrayal of it all stung; he trusted Chris... Argent, they _all_ did. That was why no one had objected when the hunter had publicly laid his claim on Peter less than 24 hours ago. A claim that had apparently been false. Because if Chris had really meant it, he would never have left Peter to wake up alone. 

At least they hadn’t… Stiles pushed the thought aside as he made his way to his Jeep. Derek was meeting him at the Argent place, and he needed to haul ass.

He was about midway there when his phone rang. He contemplated not answering but it was Scott, so he hit speaker. “What’s up?”

 _“Stiles, why did my mom just text me she was checking on Peter on your behalf and, I quote, not stay up late? What’s my mom_ doing _with Peter?”_

Under different circumstances, the panic in Scott’s voice would have been hilarious. Except the circumstances were what they were and it wasn’t funny at all. “She’s checking on him because Chris Argent is a _douchebag_ and just dumped him on his own after he nearly caught hypothermia in that lake. Werewolf or no, he needs to be checked out and he’s not gonna be leaving the apartment.” 

Not when Peter was still curled up in a ball in the bedroom, only thing missing black nail polish and the Cure on the background, but that would just be a matter of time. 

He ended the call, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited for the lights to change. Peter was a fucking _wreck_ , something Stiles had not expected to see. Peter never let anyone see a weakness, all his past claims of not being up to fighting speed aside. Did Argent have _any_ idea how badly he’d fucked up? Because Stiles took his duties as a Second _seriously._

Derek was already waiting for him.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked him with a deep frown. “What’s up with Peter?

“Peter is indisposed.” Stiles’s expression was grim, his mouth a tight line. “I need you to make sure things stay peaceful.” 

He didn’t elaborate and Derek didn’t ask, following him silently into the elevator and up to the fourth floor. It was a testament to the trust Argent inspired, that Derek did not think twice about being the one to talk Chris down if a conversation with the hunter got heated. It only fueled Stiles’ anger.

Stiles didn’t bother with the doorbell; he had keys and alarm codes to everyone’s houses for a reason - not that most of them knew about it - and when the door opened, Allison was not surprised to see him.

“Hey Stiles, Derek, is something wrong?” She frowned, obviously noticing the tension in the air.

“Where’s your dad?” Stiles asked quietly.

“In his office, what’s going on? Did something happen? Stiles - “

The office door swung open and the elder Argent appeared, alerted by the commotion: “Stiles?”

Stiles growled and punched Chris Argent in the face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Inouken and Corullance for your support and aid, and thank you everyone for the comments! Sorry this part took so long, but alas RL made a lot of demands on me.

Chris’s reaction to being struck was immediate and violent.

Afterwards, he’d be proud of Stiles, of the fact that the hit actually connected with his jaw.

Now, however, he moved without thinking on pure instinct, grasping the boy’s wrist and spinning him around, slamming Stiles to the wall face-first. Chris kept from pulling out a gun only barely.

“Chris!” Derek growled, laying a heavy hand on the hunter’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

“If I do that, will I get an explanation to why he just came at me?” Chris arched an eyebrow. “And why he is tracking goose down all over my house.”

Stiles was tense in his grip, but wasn’t struggling against the hold so there was no danger of Chris breaking any bones unless he meant to. “Let me go.”

Chris let go and stepped back, noting proudly that Allison had not lowered her crossbow.

Stiles turned around and brushed a stray bit of down off his shoulder, glaring at Chris with vehemence that made him pause.There was no trace of the malicious glee of the Nogitsune, this was pure, pissed off Stiles.

“Allison, put the bow down.” Chris said firmly. “Stiles, explain.”

“That was for Peter you son of a bitch!” Stiles snapped, eyes blazing. “How fucking dare you?”

Chris blinked. “How dare I _what?”_

Under no circumstances had he been prepared to the vitriolic tirade Stiles unleashed, questioning his actions and morals as if he were some Regency rake who’d ruined a heroine’s prospects with his vile actions.

(Victoria had _loved_ Regency romances; he’d picked up a few in his time, just to see what the fuss was about. _Really_.)

“I did no such thing!” Chris finally got a word in edgewise when Stiles was forced to draw a breath. “You have no right to…”

“No such thing? So you’re denying you went up to his Alpha to ask permission to court him?” 

_Chris can’t force himself to say the words, can’t bring himself to admit that yes, he is okay with his baby girl dating a werewolf, dating the Alpha, dating… well, he just does not want to think about it. So when he speaks to Scott, it’s in generalities, “If one of us were to be involved with one of your Pack, I think we can both agree it would not be met with hostilities on either side.”_

“That you gifted him with rare wolfsbane it took a feat of bravery to gain?”

_The witch is dead on the floor, an arrow clean through her throat. She’d warded well against werewolves, but not against hunters - not against an Argent. Chris is bleeding from multiple cuts; not just from her daggers but also from the window he crashed through to get in the first place. He is pretty sure he needs to be stitched up, but that can wait until they’ve ransacked her lair to make sure there’s no nasty surprises left behind._

_He is surprised when he finds the aconite tincture. He recognizes it, knows what it’s for. He plucks the purple glass bottle off the shelf and turns around to see Peter Hale watching him, smug smirk in place. In a split second, he makes a decision. They’ll torch this place. Peter… is going to appreciate the ability to get drunk, after.. everything. “Catch!”  
_  
“Didn’t risk life and limb to protect him?”

_Chris doesn’t think before he moves. Peter is still disoriented from the blow in the head, stumbling, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He doesn’t hear the crane, doesn’t hear the bindings snapping with thundering force -_

_He grabs onto Peter and dives._

_The shipping container crashes down only inches behind them. They stagger, almost falling down, but Chris’s hands on Peter’s shoulders steady them and their eyes lock for a long moment as Isaac and Stiles rush over, frantic._

_“You saved my life.”_

_Chris doesn’t answer, still reeling, slightly disbelieving himself._

_“Yes.”_

_“This changes nothing,” Peter slurs between bloodied lips and when Stiles grabs his arms, swearing about wolves and concussions, Chris lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and zeroes on Scott and Derek; they still have a golem to defeat.  
_  
“Didn’t bring him a stag you felled yourself and present him with it’s still-warm heart?”

_Peter’s touch is delicate when he peels the ziplock bag off the heart. “Ugh. Plastic.”_

_Chris makes some jab about fast food, distracted by the effort it takes to hang the buck. But when he hears Peter make a noise he hasn’t heard before, he pauses and gives the wolf his full attention._

_Peter’s eyes are closed and he’s biting into the heart, fangs out, blood dripping onto his lips and bare chest._

_“Greedy,” Chris remarks, and when Peter swallows the first bite, he laughs.  
_  
“And _didn’t scent him in the front of the Pack and your own Matriarch?!”_ Stiles’ voice rose to a high pitch and Chris could only stare at him, his jaw slowly but surely dropping with every accusing word. He could still remember how Peter felt in his arms, how right it had been, how much he’d wanted to never let go…

Chris swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry. “It was never my intention to... court Peter”

The look Derek gave him was full of anger and disgust. “He’s telling the truth.”

“You’re such a _douchebag,_ Argent. You’re _so_ Hans, not Christophe. Lets go Derek, I need to get out of here.”

And with that cryptic reference, Stiles stormed out with a scowling werewolf on his heels, leaving Chris alone with a very confused Allison.

“Dad?

Slowly, Chris turned to look at his daughter.

Allison’s hurt expression hit him harder than Stiles’ fist.. “Is it true?” She asked quietly. “Did you… did you lead Peter on?”

Chris shook his head. “I - I don’t know, honey. I… don’t know.”

***

“I can’t believe it.” Stiles was still ranting as they exited the building. “Just, how could he do that? After everything we’ve been through, with you guys being _bros_ , he’d go and fuck Peter over like that. I know Peter is a giant bag of dicks on a good day but this was just - “

“Stiles,” Derek raised a hand in an attempt to calm him down, but Stiles knew he was not gonna calm down any time soon. 

“How could he do it?” Stiles turned to look at Derek. “How could he fake - this?”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek and raised a hand to cup the werewolf’s bearded face, right there in the parking lot. Screw proper, screw having witnesses - without another word, which was like, a Herculean effort to him, Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek. 

The feeling of _rightness_ he thought he’d witnessed with Chris and Peter slammed into him as Derek’s shoulders sagged slightly, welcoming the embrace as the wolf lay his head on Stiles’ shoulder. It should have been awkward but it wasn’t, despite their near equal heights and the fact that Derek was like, thrice as wide as Stiles. But Dereks’ huge hands fit perfectly at the small of Stiles’ back, and the sheer contentment made his head spin. 

“Just don’t get it,” he mumbled into Derek’s hair.

Neither one of them spoke for what felt like an eternity and yet when Derek raised his head, eyes blazing a bright blue, it seemed far too soon. “We should… go home.”

Stiles swallowed, his mouth gone dry. “Yeah,” he agreed, but he made no move to disentangle from his intended. Home had a couch with soft cushions and blankets and bed and he really should not think about that, not when he was still plastered into Derek and any interest he’d show would be more than obvious. Home was awesome, home was great, holme was only a short car ride away…

Aww crap. They drove in separately, and neither one of them would be willing to leave their baby here on Argent property 

“This is gonna suck. Your place or mine?”

The short time it took for Stiles to get from the Argents’ place back to his house was excruciating; if not for the fact that both the Camaro and his Jeep were well known to the Sheriff’s department for all the obvious - and not so obvious - reasons, he would’ve dared Derek to race him.

They both pulled up to the house in extremely good time, and as soon as Stiles was out of the Jeep he had a werewolf plastered all over his side, sighing contently.

“Wow so this is gonna be a thing?” Stiles’ breath hitched as he wrapped an arm around Derek, fumbling for the house key. “The - the claiming turns wolves into limpets?”

Derek’s growl didn’t faze Stiles, but the fact that the werewolf was blushing faintly, the tips of his ears tinged pink had him break out in a grin. “Gotcha.”

As they made their way inside, Stiles’ hand slid under Derek’s jacket, between the thin t-shirt and warm leather and wow it felt so warm, “You’re really hot, the werewolf thing is pretty nifty I will never again freeze my balls off in the winter But summer is gonna suck but I’m sure we’re gonna be able to deal- “

“So what happened to waiting till your birthday?”

Stiles blanched when he saw his dad standing at the top of the stairs, hands on his hips, an extremely unimpressed look on his face. But hey at least there wasn’t a shotgun, and it was more of a disappointed than angry look.

“Hi dad! I can explain, really, we’re not _doing_ anything but cuddling, and it’s because Chris Argent is a douchebag…”

“Is that also why you have bruises on your knuckles?”

_Shit._

***

Lydia was going to _murder_ Chris Argent.

After everything that had happened between the Hale pack and the Argent family, this? This was so _petty_ and _juvenile_ it made Lydia grit her teeth in an effort to not to crush the phone in her dainty little hand.

It had been Melissa who rang her; the nurse could not stay at Peter’s any longer, but she was reluctant to leave Peter alone. That left Lydia, since Stiles and Derek were all over each other. The mass text Stiles had sent, stating that they sort of accidentally scented and would therefore be unavailable for anything but major emergencies, too busy cuddling on the Stillinski’s couch under the watchful eye of the Sheriff. 

She got it, she really did - what she thought they had all witnessed between Peter and Chris had touched her somewhere deep in her ice-sheathed heart, and she got why Stiles would have felt the urge to get that close to Derek, especially considering the circumstances.

Ugh, Stiles was right. Chris Argent was a _douchebag._

Allison had been completely thrown by everything that had happened, and Lydia didn’t blame her. This was going to cause a lot of repercussions, and strain Allison’s relationship with Scott to the point where anyone else might have broken but those two? Well, Lydia had all the faith they’d get through it. Even if Scott was entitled to some serious retribution from Allison’s dad as a result of all - this.

Unlike Stiles, she hadn’t stolen anyone’s keys to make copies. She had simply told Peter to provide her one and he had complied, with only a few grumbles about the sanctity of his beauty products.

Okay so Peter refused to tell her where he got the essential oil with the most amazing mix of pine needles and lavender; it was therefore his own fault she had to employ other means to enjoy that amazing scent…

When the door swung open on silent hinges, Lydia cringed. She could smell acrid clove, mixed with sandalwood and lavender. The heavy curtains had been drawn over the blinds, and there was only the barest hint of golden light from the bedroom, soft strands of music drifting through the air.

This was _bad_. This was so much worse than drunken phone calls about how Chris was so handsome and wonderful and a stupid Hunter who had those _eyes_ and big strong hands and what _torture_ it had been watching him handle a cold beer at the barbecue, stroking a thumb along the neck of the bottle, licking his lips and okay Lydia was not gonna repeat any of what Peter had said to her again because there were limits to their… friendship. (even if she sometimes felt more like his big sister than his former victim. If Talia Hale ever came back from the dead like everyone else seemed to, Lydia owed that woman _so much booze_ it wasn’t even funny. Or maybe there would be time travel involved, she wasn’t gonna hold her breath on anything being final around here. Well, booze and some _pointed_ questions about what precisely had led to the woman screwing with Peter’s memories to the degree she had. )

“Peter?” she said softly as she pushed the bedroom door open, her eyes adjusting to the candlelight. “It’s me.”

“Of course it’s you.” Peter mumbled against the pillow. He was laying face down on the bed, fully clothed which was a plus. A big one. Lydia sen a quick mental thank you to Melissa as she approached the bed, taking note of the lack of light, the scented candles, the empty wine bottles and fallen glasses, the small ashtray with black stubs - that explained the scent of clove, then - and the album sleeves spread out on the floor…. She also noted the vinyl was not playing, but rather, Peter’s iPod was on repeat.

Lydia sat down and lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “So this is how you’re dealing with it? Regressing to the 1990s?”

Peter huffed and burrowed deeper into his pillows. “Go away, Lydia. Let me be miserable in peace.”

“How many times have you listened to Inbetween Days on repeat?”

Peter’s answer was to raise a hand to flip her off.

“You’ve lost count, I see.” 

At least this wasn’t a murder spree. Lydia was pretty certain that Peter’s chosen method of drowning his sorrows was his way of trying very hard not to sink back into madness, into rage and retribution and nothing but ashes. She knew how much it had hurt him, to open himself up to the possibility of hope - she knew he was a scheming, conniving bastard. But Peter was not heartless; when it came to those he cared about, he had _too much_ heart. 

Which was why he did not want to care, not with how it had left him broken in the past. Not just the fire, but also the loss of his daughter and the betrayal of his sister which had consequences no one could have anticipated, with the fear of discovery implanted deep into Peter’s mind spilling out to his interactions with Derek and.. they knew how that had ended.

She was still thinking when Peter groaned again and rolled over, raising his bleary gaze to meet hers. She had almost expected smudged eyeliner. “Get out of my bed,” he rasped, “Or get out of your clothes.”

Lydia raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I am not going to be your rebound pity fuck, Peter.”

His eyes narrowed and flashed an unearthly blue.

Lydia bopped him on the nose. “No.”

Peter slumped back, like a deflated balloon. “I hate you.”

She smiled. “Good. Now lets put on something that is not this emo crap, okay?”

Peter’s eyes flashed again. Yup, that did it; when Peter started vehemently protesting how the Cure were _not_ emo thank you very much, she knew he was not thinking of Chris. Just for a little while.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! Big thanks to my amazing cheerleaders <3

How could he have been so damn _blind?_

Chris stared into the wall morosely, his third glass of whiskey in hand. Allison was gone, leaving him alone in his office with his thoughts. Probably for the better; he didn’t think she’d appreciate sight of him wallowing in self-pity and doubt, so hung up on _Peter fucking Hale._

Once Stiles and Derek had left, Chris had shut himself in his office and made a few phone calls, burning through favors owed.

_  
“Werewolf courting? Did I hear you right?”_

_“Everything you have on werewolf courtship, Garcia.”_

_“Why? It’s only something stable packs do, you should have no reason to go after courting wolves. Did someone bring down a human for a courting gift or what?”_

_“I’ll tell you later. Please, it’s important.”_

_“Oh, fine. But you know this will cost ya, buttercup.”_

_“Of course.”_

And Garcia had delivered. Within the hour, Chris had a thorough, well-indexed file about the intricacies of werewolf courtship in his inbox. With every word he read, his face blanched further. Peter’s explanation to the Sheriff had been very much abridged and circumspect.

Stiles had been right. He _had_ been courting Peter, going through all the steps of the dance without knowing what he had been doing. And Peter…

Peter had welcomed him, every step of the way. From accepting the wolfsbane to biting into the deer heart in front of him,he’d never rejected any of Chris’ unwitting offerings. Had he not thought that if he would offer up a courting gift, Peter would laugh and trample it in the dust, rather than accept? Apparently, he had been dead wrong.

Chris closed his eyes, trying to quench the flood of conflicting feelings threatening to overwhelm him. Bitter disappointment, loss and guilt all warred with incredulity and confusion, disbelief at the fact that anything could ever pass between an Argent and a Hale that was not anger and unease. 

If not for the fact that Stiles had come up to him, accusing him of leading Peter on… if Chris had known what he knew now before the lake, he would have assumed Peter was stringing him along, only to reject him when it would hurt the most. Except, he had not known, and now that he did… it appeared as if he was indeed the cad who had mistreated _Peter fucking Hale._

Was he sorry? Yes. He would not have gone out of his way to toy with Peter’s emotions. Not when there was so much real pain and death between them, the idea of juvenile love games was just that, juvenile. He’d have to apologise to Peter, to explain his ignorance and ask for a chance to…

A chance to what? To stay friends with the wolf? Or… something more?  
 _  
Had I known, would I have gone ahead with it?_ That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. 

There was no denying that he was attracted to Peter. It was not just physical, either, despite the fact that Peter’s firm chest and the way his jeans framed his backside were something Chris had privately contemplated quite often. No, his desire for Peter went beyond lust, in a way he had not admitted to himself until now, alone in the dark.

He remembered how badly he had wanted to stay with Peter - had it really only been the day before? The feeling of contentment and belonging he’d believed to be an illusion that would shatter the moment Peter recovered from his brush with cold. And yet, the only illusion had been his own idea that it could never be, that the idea of _Hale_ and _Argent_ was impassable. That they could never be just _Peter_ and _Chris._

Except.. the courtship was formal. It was not an illicit affair, not a stolen moment snatched between battles. It was public, it was open, and it wa a declaration - here we stand united. and it would not have been the first time in lupine history that burying the hatchet came with a wedding. Hell, humans had done the same all across history. It both bore the full weight of their history, and lifted it off their shoulders.

He was… not experienced with any of this. With relationships. He had never dated someone casually, had none of the formative relationship experiences he’d wanted Allison - of course, she’d end up dating a werewolf! - to have. There had only ever been the two extremes for him - the hurried, frantic thank-God-we’re-alive-it’s-dead rutting with other hunters, never to be spoken of in the light of the day, and what he’d shared with Victoria. The only woman - only person - he’d ever shared a bed with. Only person he’d ever _wanted_ to share a bed with.

Until he found himself wishing he could wake up with Peter Hale.

Chris sighed and took another long sip of whiskey before he set the glass aside. It was late. He could sit here and contemplate this till the cows came home, or he could go and try to get some sleep so tomorrow, he could give serious thought to what it was that he wanted from - no, _with_ Peter Hale, and how to best achieve that goal.

He may be a cad, but Peter was no damsel in distress, and no grand romantic gesture would keep his throat from being ripped out if Peter was as jilted as Chris was led to believe.

No, this required… strategy. Patience. Perseverance. All things a hunter excelled in.

***

 

Em was getting worried. She hadn’t seen Peter for a few days, but he’d had a steady stream of visitors ever since she’d seen him with Argent. She wouldn’t have considered it odd, except… there was something off. The fact that Stiles had paid him a visit the day after she’d seen him talking to Argent, and a few hours later the Sheriff’s nurse girlfriend had come by… it gave her a bad feeling.

She’d knocked on his door, once. He’d growled, literally _growled_ at her to go away and leave him to die of the plague in peace. She supposed it could have been just that, an illness… but that did not explain the fact that McCall had not been his only visitor. Another teenager Em recognized from the police reports as a friend of Stiles, a Lydia Martin, had been by multiple times, bringing in groceries and arguing with Peter. She had her own key, and if Em had not been aware of where Peter’s inclinations lay, she would have made sure Martin’s parents knew about this, about the amount of time she was spending with a thirtysomething man in his home.

She knew she had to do something.

This time, she had a key from the super; so when she went to Peter’s door and prepared to knock. She knew she might end up breaking procedure but from what she’d seen that was more matter of course here in Beacon Hills than anything else.

Em raised her hand to knock, but when the elevator went off she paused and took a step back. Just to make sure her talk with Peter was not going to be interrupted by one of his friends, or Argent.

The doors dinged open and a woman stepped out, two tall men Em immediately classed as thugs right behind her. All three were carrying as far as she could tell; Em cursed silently because her sidearm was with her uniform, i.e. not on her. She’d thought Peter might be more amenable to talk if she was in civvies and look at this, she’s in the middle of an alteraction about to happen.

The woman - late middle-age, hispanic, dyed hair, average height and build - eyed her up and down in a way that made Em’s skin crawl. The two thugs stayed impassive, eyes raking up and down the corridor clearly threat-assessing.

“You look just like I expected.”

Em blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You look just like your grandfather, _mi hija_.” The woman stepped forward, her stride careful and measured as she approached Em, getting between her and most of the exits. The fire door to the staircase was still behind her, twenty feet back and to the left.

Em blinked. “I’m sorry you must have mistaken me for someone else,” she said, looking at the woman more closely - there was no way they were related, except.. .there was something around her eyes and jaw that reminded her of her grandfather, but that made no sense. Grandpa Martin had never spoken of any family…

“No, hija, I have not. It is time you knew your true family, your true calling. Your legacy.”

There was a noise behind her. She tried to spin around, to deflect, but it was too late. A third man was behind her, the door to the fire escape open and she felt the prick of a needle on her neck and she tried to shout -

Last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Peter’s door swinging open, an unearthly growling noise filling her ears. Then she knew no more.

******

 

“No more Murder Ballads, Peter. I mean it.” 

Peter sighed. Lydia had been right. Of course, as she would say, because she was always right. Peter was wallowing in misery, and it was not becoming of him.

 

“But Melissa, it suits my mood perfectly.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Fine. Put on something peppy and gratifying, then, I don’t care.”

As Melissa took over the stereo, Peter had to admit she was probably right in steering him away from the songs where love led to death and murder and other various things he tried to avoid these days.

He could still remember the first time he held the album in his hands, listening to it in a darkened room with the acrid smoke of cloves curling in his lungs. Then, it had been an affectation, a bad habit. Now… it burned out all the other scents in the apartment, those not covered by the candles and incense. he could not burn down his bed to make sure he’d never scent the hunter again, so this was his solution. Not like he was getting his deposit back anyway.

 

“Those things will kill you,” Melissa remarked as she rifled through his record collection. “Because I will personally murder you if you keep smoking them near my kid, werewolf or not.”

Peter did not deign to reply. He was curious to see what she’d pick from his collection. She was such a gorgeous, _brilliant_ creature and if not for her relations with the Sheriff, he would be quite determined to see if she were willing to soothe his pain away with far more intent than he’d had when he propositioned Lydia. 

(Also, he knew for a fact that crossing Scott McCall when it came to his sainted mother, who was debating between Bikini Kill and Katrina and the Waves, would make the likelihood of Peter’s continued survival in one piece practically nonexistent. Therefore… )

As Rebel Girl began playing, Melissa fixed him with a stare that probably would have unnerved him under different circumstances. Now, however, when he’d done his best to numb his senses and his heart? Peter only blinked slowly. 

“Really, Melissa?” He practically purred, taking another drag of his clove cigarette. “I may have been _misled_ ” - he would not say _played_ “by Argent but this? I am not one of your girlfriends, to be cheered up with girl power and ice cream.” 

No, he was not some broken-hearted, simpering weakling. He was a werewolf, he was a survivor, he always had been the _alpha_ despite all these setbacks… 

Melissa shook her head, crossing her arms. “You have wallowed enough, Peter. You haven’t left your apartment in days, we’re all worried about you. This is not _you.”_

“Because it lacks violence and mayhem? I can fix that. Think Argent would appreciate a human heart nailed to his door?” Peter lashed out, his eyes flashing unearthly blue as anger welled up inside him, burning bright and threatening to spill over. “A diabolical revenge plan, since that’s all I am good for?”

Melissa looked him straight in the eye. God, she was so _fierce._ “Anything but this, Peter. You spent enough time lying around being miserable when you were in hospital…”

Some things should never be spoken of callously. The anger inside Peter reached a flashpoint, boiling over and with a roar he slammed his clawed hand down on the coffee table, breaking clean through the wood. _So not getting his deposit back._

 _“Do not talk to me like that!”_ his voice was inhuman as he fought against the urge to stalk forward, to slam Melissa into the wall to silence her, to rip out her offending tongue.

Melissa was… unfazed by his anger. Peter blinked slowly and growled, his emotions slowly receding to a hot, hard boil rather than frothing rage.

“Anything but this, Peter,” she said in the voice Peter associated with the way she spoke to her son, the True Alpha. “You’re better than this.”

Peter opened his mouth, about to reply with more venom than he should when the scent hit him. 

Wolfsbane.

Mixed with gun oil and steel, but without the base note that he still identified as _Chris_ despite his best efforts to exorcise it from his head.

Hunters.

“Get back,” he hissed quietly, turning towards the door. He could hear voices in the corridor, shit, was that Lowe?

“What is it?” Melissa’s voice did not waver.

“Hunters.” Peter tilted his head. He heard a sound that could have been an aborted cry for help. Shit.

In a split second, Peter made a decision. If Melissa had not been here, he would have been out through the balcony and away before the hunters picked the right door - but now, with Melissa here the best defense was a strong offense since there was no way a human could manage the drop and the climb.

The Hunters would be expecting to break in the door once Lowe had coughed up which one it was. He could be out of the apartment, past them and down the fire stairs in less than twenty seconds, leading them away from Melissa. The door to the floor below would be open; there was an empty apartment, he could bash in the door and exit through the balcony on the opposite side of the building.

“Hide. When they're gone, call the Sheriff. “

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks and hides*


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, lovelies! I've been away at a festival - if anyone else was at Resistanz, wasn't that cool or what? - and then wwhen I came back I got a cat (!!!) and had to see a bunch of doctors. :( so, stupid RL has kept me from writing. As always, Inouken, Corullance, wellfourthings and we-remain-together have my eternal love because you guys keep this thing on track! 
> 
> Also I have officially given up on figuring out how many chapters this story will be.

Peter’s apartment had an open floor plan and an airy feel to it; one might think it lacked places to hide if one didn’t know Peter, and by now Melissa most certainly did.

The hallway closet was much more spacious than it appeared, and Melissa slotted snugly behind Peter’s impressive array of coats and scarves and other outerwear accoutrements. The sliding door was partially open, so even though she could not see, she could hear Peter growl as the door slammed open and he surged out of the apartment.

There was a thud, a cry, a loud popping sound - _tranquilizer gun_ , her mind supplied. She heard peter yowl, more tussling and then the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Melissa bit her lip, hand clutching her phone hard. They had Peter, so next they’d come into the apartment - with a flick of her fingers she hit the first number on her speed dial.

 _“Melissa?_ ” his voice was quiet when he picked up, “ _What’s up?_ ”

Her hand did not tremble when she lifted the phone. She was a nurse, nerves of steel were part of her job description. “Hunters,” she whispered. “They have Peter, they’re going to come in..” 

There was the sound of the door now, swinging… shut?

Melissa blinked as she heard the lock click.  
 _  
“Melissa? I’m coming right over! Stay on the line”_

“They’re gone,” she whispered, drawing deeper into the closet. “They’re not coming in.”

Her heartbeat was still loud in her ears for the excruciatingly long ten minutes and fifty-eight seconds it took for the door to open again, this time with the key she was not supposed to know about but which had been copied off the one Stiles had.

“Melissa?” She heard Erwin call out.

“In here.”

She clambered out of the closet with surprising grace; only two scarves followed her. And a hat. And she was pretty sure one of the coats had crumpled onto the bottom of the closet; something she knew Peter would be very vocal about when they got him back.

When they got him back. Not if.

“I have Parrish checking the security cameras outside the building. There’s no blood in the corridor and nothing’s out of place. There were no gunshots?”

Melissa shook her head. “No. Just a tranq gun.”

“Okay. Deputy Lowe lives next door, if she’s home she might’ve heard something, certainly the tranq gun…”

Melissa let out a shuddering breath, leaning into the arm Erwin put around her shoulders. He snagged one of Peter’s coats and wrapped her in it before he guided her gently out of the apartment, into the corridor where everything looked as if nothing has happened, except for slight scuffing of the carpet and a pot plant out of place.

“Looks like they left through the fire exit, Sheriff,” she heard Parrish say as the young deputy appeared from the stairwell “The footage is pretty bad but looks like four people total, two hostages. Got into a black van, plates weren’t visible.”

Melissa tuned out the rest of their conversation, closing her eyes as she pulled the coat closer around her, inhaling the smell of Peter and _pack_ that still clung to it,familiar enough for even her human nose to detect a faint trace of. She was shaking now, adrenaline that had flooded her system leaving her and the symptoms were familiar and almost comforting because she knew what her body was doing and why. Melissa would be okay, and so would Peter. She just needed a moment.  
 _  
“Sir, the door is open.”_

Her hands no longer shook when she pulled out her phone again. She did not hesitate when she dialed Chris Argent’s number.

***

First thing she became aware of was the pounding headache accompanied by a dry mouth. The second was that her ass was seriously numb, the chair she’d been handcuffed to hard and cold.

Carefully, Em ran her tongue around her mouth and tried to keep her breathing even. Don’t let them know you’re awake. She could hear someone else breathing, a crackle of electricity, was that.. some kind of pipes?

“Don’t bother, I know you’re awake.” 

The voice was familiar despite it’s roughness. Peter.

With a groan, Em, slowly opened her eyes, careful to let them adjust to the dimness of the room as she raised her head. Her neck protested when she turned towards her right, where Peter’s voice had come from. When she saw him, she gasped involuntarily.

They had _tortured_ Peter. That’s what the hum of electricity was, nasty-looking machinery with electrodes connected to the chains holding Peter to a fence. He was shirtless and bloody, his head lolling to the side as he stared straight at her, eyes almost unnaturally blue in the low light. 

The smile on his face was ugly; nothing like the charming man who had offered to help with her boxes and spoken highly of the Sheriff. No, this was a look she had gotten used to seeing on the other side of her gun, the other side of the bars - the look of someone cruel and brutal. Someone _dangerous._

She suddenly had no doubt of the fact that had Argent actually been pushing Peter around, he would have come to regret it, thug or not.

“So you’re the reason the bitch has me again. Let me tell you, _Emilia_ , if I lose any fingers this time I am going to take it out on your pretty little hide. What are you, anyway? A harpy? A siren? A fucking _fairy?_ ” he spat out the last word.

Em blinked. Shit, fingers? But he had all of his... it was clear, though, from his tone that he had been.. associated with the woman who claimed to be her relative before. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, her voice a hoarse croak as she tried to moisten her lips. And it was true - she hadn’t thought she was that out of the loop with california street lingo, what was a harpy anyway? Some sort of a flying courier, maybe? But that made no sense, unlike Siren, which she guessed meant a honey pot but… Fairy? Her face twisted in confusion.

“Really, I should have known. You were just too _nice_ , too _human_ to be true. I should have known better after dear deputy Parrish; but you just swanned in right under our noses and dragged me into this.”

Em swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Peter, I have no idea what is going on- “

He laughed, the sound broken and dark. “I can hear the lie. You know exactly what is going on. You know why they took you. You know what they are.”  
 _  
I’m caught in the middle of a criminal turf war because I live next door to Argent’s squeeze who isn’t some helpless damsel in distress, and because I am apparently related to a lady who’s part of another organization, I’m guessing cartel._

“I can make a guess,” she admitted. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.” Em blinked, eyes straining in the dim light. “Are you injured?” 

Peter snorted. “Nothing that won’t heal once this - _ah!_ \- hospitality is no longer an issue.” he twitched, like there had been a shock delivered to him. “I am _touched_ by your concern.”

Before she could say anything else, there was a loud creaking sound and on the other side of the room a metal door slid open on rusty hinges. The woman from the corridor stepped inside, flanked by two new goons.

The look on her face was practically feral. “You’re awake, _mi hija_. Good.”

Em licked her lips. “You drugged me.”

The woman made a small tsking sound as she approached them. “It was necessary.”

“Ma’am, you’ve drugged and kidnapped a member of the law enforcement…” Em started, despite knowing it would be futile. these guys knew what they were doing, knew they were committing multiple felonies. She trailed off when the woman just _stared_ at her, eyes blazing.

“That is irrelevant. You are my brother’s granddaughter. You are family, and it is time for you to come home to take your place amongst us. You have been trained well,but you must be better. it is your duty, your legacy.”

Em blinked. “Ma’am, I am a third generation police officer. Kidnapping is a felony, and you are not exactly endearing yourself to anyone here.”

Not to mention, there might have been relation, but that did not explain Peter. Em risked a glance from the corner of her eye at the man. Peter’s eyes were closed, his head lolling as if he was still unconscious. Smart choice - but she didn’t miss the twitch of his lips, as if he was tasting something foul.

“What we do is far more important than mere law enforcement, _mija.”_

Em swallowed at the sheer conviction in the woman’s voice. She knew some cartels were doing “good” deeds in the community, similar to the origins of the Mafia and the Yakuza and seen by their members as something more than criminals. Something - constructive.

The woman glanced at Peter. “It was fortunate the beast was so close to you. It will make everything easier to explain. You will see with your own eyes.”

She took a step towards Peter and Em stiffened, expecting her to hit the defenseless man. Instead, the woman went for the control box laid on a table, where gauges and switches showed it was the key to the electric hum on the background.

A quick twist of a dial and Peter _howled._

“Stop it!” Em shouted, alarmed. “You’re hurting him!” there were sparks, they were _killing_ him-

There was a sudden loud bang on the door and the dial was turned down. Peter slumped in his bonds, panting weakly as the woman turned around to the door, where an imposing-looking guy stood with a grim expression on his scarred face. _“Señora.”_

He said something too fast for Em to catch besides one single word. _Argent._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff's name is courtesy of Fluffygremlin, who suggested we should adopt Erwin for his name because of Schrödinger


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go lovelies! Sorry for the long wait, I've had a gigantic writer's block on this - ergo the Mating Games stuff - and RL has been extra icky lately. 
> 
> This story is not and never will be abandoned!

When is phone rang, Chris had just finished checking every weapon in the house for the second time and was folding his sixty-second Origami swan. 

He needed to do _something_ to ground his body as his mind was on Peter, and the relationship he had inadvertently ruined before it had the chance to truly begin. 

Chris Argent was an expert in compartmentalizing; a skill he had honed early on, and gotten much more use out of in the past few years than he’d like to admit. But the problem with compartmentalizing was that you needed something to occupy the space you had cleared out by pushing things aside and - there was nothing. 

He wasn’t foolish enough to wish for something to break the lull, or to think it would last, but it left very few things for him to drown his stubborn foolishness in and not feel the constant pangs of regret with every breath. 

If only he’d stayed… but no, regret would not do any good. Chris knew that if he were to approach Peter again, to apologise, to tell him he’d never intended this to happen but he did not want to let go of what they could have - well. He’d be lucky to escape with his life; Hell hath no fury like a werewolf scorned. 

_Especially not Peter Hale._

He reached for the phone and answered with a tired sigh when he saw who it was. “Melissa, if this is another lecture about how badly I fucked up by leaving Peter alone after exposure to the elements - “ he cringed at the memory of her vocal displeasure when she’d confronted him about his failings, buried the memory of being tossed in a room with a blanket and told to sleep it off even deeper before he was interrupted by her sharp words.

_“It’s Peter. Hunters took him. And Deputy Lowe.”_

For a fraction of a second he could not breathe. _Peter._

“Tell me everything,” he barked and hit speaker, tossing the phone on the table and made for his thigh holster, mind already racing. taking Lowe didn’t make sense, unless she’d witnessed something, Garcia hadn’t gotten back to him about Lowe’s potential hunter connections yet, but had let him know it wasn’t a cover identity. 

He geared up methodically as Melissa told him everything, from hiding in Peter’s closet to what Parrish had found, all the while going through and rejecting potential reactions. 

There was a very large part of him that wanted to go in guns blazing and leave no survivors. Go in there and get his wolf back, consequences be damned. But experience and restraint won over, barely. 

Araya and her crew were in Argent territory. She may not like it, but her men owed him, owed the Hale pack for what had happened with the she-wolf demon. So when he walked in and demanded they give him what was his… 

There were traditions, ways these things should be done - Hunters on Hunter territory, calling on someone of Araya’s rank - but Chris was certain that this particular situation had never occurred and he wanted to be prepared for every eventuality. 

It did not surprise him when he checked the sights of his Desert Eagle and slid it home in the holster, he could hear the door and three familiar sets of footsteps. 

“Dad? What’s going on?” Allison took one look at him and immediately her stance changed, her eyes took on a weight that made his heart heavy. The eyes of the Argent Matriarch looked back at him. 

“We have a problem. Araya has Peter.” 

Within half an hour, the pack had all converged in his study. If someone had told him he’d be hosting what was effectively a war council of werewolves before he came back to Beacon Hills, he would have laughed at their delusions. Now, however, he was pointing out on the map where Araya and her men would most likely be based to the assembled pack. 

“So let me get this straight,” the Sheriff said, sounding dubious. “You want to go in with just yourself, Allison and Isaac, and have the rest of us wait outside while you _talk_ Peter and Lowe out of there?” 

Chris nodded. “Yes, that is what I intend to do.”

The Sheriff shook his head. “Run this by me again.”

Chris took a deep breath, ignoring the wince of pain and urgency in his heart. Peter could hold on a little while longer. “They’re hunters. They will respect our rules. No Hunter will dare slight a Matriarch in her own territory,” he inclined his head towards Allison, whose face was grave, “And a representative of the pack.” Isaac’s eyes flashed at the acknowledgement. 

“Why not take Derek?”

Chris glanced at the wolf apologetically: “They already captured you once, and Peter is your uncle.” _You’re a liability._ “And I’d rather have you waiting in case things get hairy.”

That was also why he wanted Isaac instead of Stiles - the pack’s emissary would normally be the one to handle such a delicate negotiation, but with the fact that Stiles was not yet fully trained and not a fighter... in case this went horribly wrong Chris did not want anyone who could not hold their own in a physical fight to be caught in the middle. Besides, it was Stiles. It would be a long time coming that the boy would be ready to take on a negotiator’s duties without causing an international incident within his first few words. 

“So here is what we will do…”  
 __  
Just hold on, Peter.  


**** 

Peter gasped for breath, aftershocks ripping through his body as he slumped against his bonds. he could taste blood from where his fangs had pierced his lips and he wanted nothing more than to curl into himself, but he had heard what had halted the torture, too.  
 _  
Argent._

His breath came in shallow pants - his broken ribs hadn’t healed thanks to the damned electricity - as he raised his head, watching the progression being escorted in.

Christophe Argent, looking grim as death strode at the front, flanked by his daughter and Isaac. If the boy was nervous standing in the midst of hunters he showed no sign of it, head held high and a disinterested sneer on his face. (Peter was so proud.)

Try as he might he could not keep his eyes from returning to Chris, to the tight set of his shoulders and the fire flashing in his eyes when he spoke to the bitch. 

“Araya.” 

“Christophe.” she turned towards Allison, inclining her head. “Matriarch Argent. It is a honor.”

Peter tuned out the pleasantries and zeroed his eyes on Chris. The hunter’s eyes met his, and for a moment something wavered in them before they closed off again, cold and calculating and moved over to where the girl was still tied up in the chair. Hunter.

Here for Lowe, of course. Peter snarled and struggled against his bonds, still so fucking weak from the shocks. The betrayal still stung, heedless of the strain his body was under. It did nothing to mask the gut-punch that was seeing Chris Argent for the first time since he’d closed his eyes in his mate’s arms only to wake up to howling emptiness. 

Peter still wanted and he _hated_ himself for it. 

“My father speaks for Argent, as it is him whom you’ve transgressed against.” 

The girl’s voice was firm and Peter could see how the old bitch raised an eyebrow, expression still disdainful when he looked at Chris.. at Argent. 

“Is that so, Christophe? What it is that we have done? Taken one of your tame beasts?” she sneers. 

Peter was not _tame_ , fuck you very much; the growl that passed his lips came from deep in his belly. The chains rattled noisily as he surged forward, knowing it would do nothing but draw attention to him which was probably bad but he was not some fucking mutt to be _rescued_ \- 

“You have my mate.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I am struggling with juggling a ton of things in RL and suffered a broken laptop on top of everything else. Hope this is worth the wait!

Chris waited with bated breath. His words had quieted Peter’s struggles, but a part of him expected the wolf to deny it, to spit in his face even if it meant his own doom… but he knew Peter was nothing but a survivor and perhaps that would win over his damnable pride. 

“Mate.” Araya sneered, disbelieving. “After what happened to Victoria, you would let me believe you’re rutting with an animal?” 

The words are harsh and beside him, both Allison and Isaac stiffen. He was proud of the, of none of it showing on their faces, his daughter’s face still set in the calm veneer of the Matriarch and Isaac’s disinterested sneer impeccable. 

“I have been a widower for a long time, Araya.” Chris’s voice thickened despite his best intentions. Thinking about Victoria still hurt, and always would, but it was not the mire of loss and agony it had once been. “I have courted the Hale elder as per their traditions, with the blessings of their Alpha and my Matriarch” 

The look of bemused anger on Araya’s face was almost comical. “Is this true?” She turned towards Allison. “You would let him consort with beasts?” 

Allison lifted her chin. “I want my father to be happy.” 

The steel in her voice brooked no argument so Araya turned her attention to Isaac. Again, Chris was so proud of the boy, to stare down a hunter with nonchalance when amidst them. 

“Our Alpha is very much for good _relations_ with Argent. He is in favour.” Isaac’s sneer turned into a smirk.

If only he wasn’t such a _little shit_ so often.But that was why Peter liked the boy so much. Chris did not wince, looking at his mate. 

Peter was watching the proceedings quietly, his head held high. Chris could see his fingers twitch above the shackles, wanted nothing more than to tear him down from the wall. There was a look of contemplation on his face, a tilt to his head that made Chris think that maybe, just maybe…. Peter had heard the truth in his words. 

And maybe Peter would accept it. 

He turned his attention back to Araya. The look on the woman’s face was contemplative but still conveyed anger, a sense of _this is not over yet._ Perhaps she had envisioned one of her own offspring, Victoria’s cousins, to be brought into the Argent family to strengthen ties. Chris would not be surprised at all if that was the case.   
“Let him go.” His voice was quiet, but carried weight.The weight of Argent, the weight of tradition of both wolves and hunters, and all the feelings that had grown in him towards Peter. Towards his mate, if the wolf would still have him. 

Araya’s face twisted, the expression ugly but resigned. She snapped out a command in Spanish and two of her men hurried to turn off the electricity and get Peter down. Chris did not miss the relieved looks they shot at him, or the care they took with Peter.

Chris stepped up, past Araya, to be the one to take hold of Peter when he slumped forward. He knew Peter might very well flip, might decide to tear out his throat but he could not bear another’s hands on his wolf. His mate. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear as he carefully catalogued Peter’s injuries, slipping an arm around his body, noting the bruises starting to fade along his ribs and the blood that was soaking into his clothes along with the unnatural heat. 

“You should be, Argent,” Peter’s voice was weak. 

“We’ll talk later,” Chris said softly, his eyes pleading with the wolf when they met the cold blue gaze. Peter’s eyes did not soften, but he nodded in agreement before his head slumped against Chris’s shoulder. 

“What, not going to greet your _mate_ properly?” Araya’s voice was sharp, a hint of suspicion behind the derision.

Chris faltered. He wanted to, he wanted to take hold of Peter’s bruised face and kiss the wolf, whisper how sorry he had been to mislead him and if he could be forgiven - that he enjoyed Peter’s company too much to ever let him go, that he wanted - 

Peter’s voice was a low growl. “Not for your benefit, bitch.” and then he was twisting in Chris’s arms, heedless of his injuries till they were face to face. The hunter held his breath as their eyes met again, Peter’s growing a fraction softer as he raised a bloody hand to grip Chris’s face surprisingly gently and pulled him into a kiss. 

It was fast, hard and messy, tasting of blood and cordite and pain. Peter growled into the kiss as Chris’s hold of him tightened, jarring his ribs. it was far from an ideal first kiss. 

It was perfect. 

Chris wanted nothing more than to bury his hands in Peter’s hair, to pull the wolf to him and keep kissing him, murmur words of affection but he was crucially aware of their audience - not just Araya and her men, but he also had no desire to traumatize his daughter. 

With regret he pulled back, meeting Peter’s eyes again. They were blown huge, the the blue barely visible. Chris could see the wolf swallow before Petr twisted around again, sneering at Araya. 

“That proof enough for you, or do you get off on watching?” 

Araya’s eyes flared with rage. “Enough. Go!” 

Relief flooded through Chris. A slow smile crept on his face and he looked at the deputy still tied in a chair, looking at everything with a look that could only be described as pure what the fuck. “Release her, and we will go.”

“You have no claim over her!” Araya snapped. “She is of my blood!”

“That’s right, _I_ don’t have a claim over her.” Chris couldn’t help the hint of smugness creeping into his voice. “The Sheriff’s department, on the other hand?” 

Deliberately, he lifted the arm that was not supporting Peter and glanced at his watch. “They will be surrounding this place in the next ten minutes if we do not walk out of here with her.” 

***

Peter’s ribs throbbed with pain with every step he took. His healing was kicking in slowly and he seethed with hatred that he could not walk out under his own power, head held high. No, he had to let Argent support him, let the claim that had been laid on him in front of the hunters be loud and clear. 

He _hated_ it. He most certainly did not lean into Chris… Argent’s warm embrace, didn’t inhale deeply one the familiar scent to drown out the electricity and stale water that had invaded his nose. He did not make a small sound that had nothing to do with pain when Chris’s... Argent’s... fuck it, i _Chris’s_ hand brushed against his hip. 

Later, he would absolutely deny that he swooned. Passed out from pain and shock, he could admit to, but under no circumstances did Peter Hale swoon into Chris Argent’s arms as soon as they excited the old warehouse. Through the fog and pain of his healing kicking in, he was only dimly aware of being scooped up in strong arms and carried into a car where a familiar scent surrounded him. He wanted to fight it, wanted to open his eyes and bolt but no matter his wounded pride and the anger still festering under his skin, he could not help drifting away. 

Next thing he became aware of was the stale smell of spent cloves and the fact that he was laying in his own bed. Again, Argent had taken him to bed and abandoned him as soon as he was done using Peter for whatever his gain, be it kicks or hunter politics.The thought throbbed through Peter’s chest in a way that had nothing to do with his barely healed ribs. 

Suddenly another scent invaded his senses: wolfsbane, gun oil, musk and _Chris_. The bed dipped and he felt the coolness of glass against his lips. 

“Here. Drink this.” Chris’s voice was gruff and full of barely hidden worry. Some part of Peter sang with the fact that his mate was here, that Chris was looking after him - and another of him howled in rage because Peter Hale was many things but weak was not one of them, he did not need being minded like an invalid, never again -

His eyes flew open and he growled, surging forward, 

Only to be ignominiously haltered and yanked back by the handcuffs wrapped snugly around his wrists. The pink, fuzzy ones, he realized with dread, the softness of the fur masking his confinement when he first woke, strong enough to hold a werewolf. 

He knew he should not have appropriated them when the thing with the fairies was over. 

Slowly, he raised his head to look at Chris Argent, who was still calmly sitting on the edge of the bed holding the glass of water. But his heartbeat belied his anxiety, Peter could smell it now, hidden behind the familiar scent he did not want to think of as safe. 

“So this is how it goes, Argent? From one set of chains to another? Couldn’t trust your _tame beast_?” the words tasted like bitter ash on his tongue. 

“The chains were Stiles’ idea. I don’t want to know how he knows why you have fuzzy pink handcuffs strong enough to hold a werewolf, but he told me it would give me a chance to - apologize.”

Not a lie. And Peter knew that Chris was not controlling his heartbeat, there was none of the fake steadiness, there was an uptick of anxiety and he smelled of concern and contrition, or what Peter would have thought was those two emotions before…

“Apologize.” Peter snarled, rattling the handcuffs. Curse his weakness for interior decor, the bed would not give way from under the fae cuffs either, he was at Argent’s mercy and no matter how many times he had imagined this scenario - although with a lot less clothes - he would not let the hunter -

“Yes. For fucking up everything between us. I never meant things to go this way, I never - Goddammit, Peter, I never realized I was courting you until it was too late!”

_Not a lie._

****

Em’s legs trembled as the blond kid - _Lahey, suspected of killing his abusive father until witness recanted his statement_ \- took her by the arm surprisingly gently. She did not believe that the Sheriff’s department was anywhere near, but she knew she’d have a better chance of escaping once away from these guys. 

She expected being manhandled and frogmarched - instead, Lahey was courteous in a way that that reminded her of the Peter she’d first met, not the snarling mess who was being escorted out by Argent. _Guess it’s a good thing he has a nurse on payroll._

“He should go to hospital,” Em chanced once they were outside. “They tortured him. He was electrocuted. He -:”

 

Lahey shrugged. “He’s been through worse.They didn’t even cut off anything.”

Shit, the kid was callous as fuck for someone who hadn’t even graduated high school. Em stumbled a little, testing his grip but his hold was like bars of iron.

She was not surprised to see the Stilinski kid waiting by the cars. Nor was Derek Hale a surprise. 

The Sheriff, however, definitely was. 

“You got them!” the relief in his voice was palpable. “Any issues?”

She watched Argent shake his head. “No. Lets get out of here.”

Stiles piped up. “Where are you taking him?”

Argent hesitated. “I…”

“Take him, back to his place. It’s safe and familiar for him, and there’s a set of wolf proof cuffs at the locker at the bottom of his bed just in case he’s out of it when he wakes up. Might buy you some time.”

The kid sounded far too authoritative for a seventeen year old. Em watched Argent nod and carry - physically pick up the now apparently unconscious Peter - to the black SUV. 

Leaving Em flanked by his daughter and Lahey, facing her boss. 

Nothing made any sense. The woman, her supposed great aunt or whatever, had been using animal metaphors and acting like Allison Argent was in charge, which was ridiculous. Like a eighteen year old would be allowed to be in charge of anything even resembling the vast conspiracy Em realized she’d plunged into headfirst. 

The Sheriff’s steady eyes met hers and she held back a flinch. they were full of concern, the eyes of the honest, good man she had thought him to be - there was nothing there that belied he was involved in - whatever the fuck this was. that he’d been bought. 

“Glad to see you with us again, Deputy.:

For now. Em was starting to believe she would not live to see the dawn. there was no way this could end well for her. But when the Sheriff started quizzing her about what had happened she snapped into work mode and began to describe the events that had occurred, from her kidnapping to waking up in the chair. 

 

Sheriff nodded. “Come on, Lowe. We need to get you checked out, let;s head to the hospital. Can you stand or should Isaac come along?

Em shook her head. “I can stand.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Lahey;s expression turn ugly and gleeful. “Think I should come along anyway, Sir, just in case you need a… demonstration.”

She could see the Sheriff hesitate for a moment. 

“That’s a good idea, Isaac,: Stiles spoke up again. :”Derek and I can take Allison back to the house. Scott and the twins have circled back out and will meet us there.: 

Lahey nodded and Em’s blood ran cold. She did not want to think about what kind of a demonstration a kid like Lahey would be capable of. 

She glanced to her left. an alley was about twenty feet away, curving sharply out of sight. She had no idea if it was a dead end or not, but she knew she had to make a run for it. 

Allison Argent stepped forward and Lahey let go of Em to lower his head to whisper something to her, raised his hand to brush her cheek and Em took her chance. Glad she still had her steel-toed docs, she kicked Lahey in the shin hard and bolted towards the alley. 

She could hear a noise that was almost inhuman behind her as she sprinted, praying no one would shoot her before she got to cover. The alley mouth was just a few feet away when there was a roar and a whooshing sound, air rushing over her as someone _leapt over her head._

Lahey was standing in front of her, his face twisted into something monstrous and feral. His eyes flashed gold and he snarled at her between sharp fangs. :”Shouldn’t have done that.”

Em fainted.   
She came to soon after, with the Sheriff fussing over her. She was laying at the back of a cruiser, a uniform jacket under her head. There was no pain and for a moment she wondered if this was all a dream, if she'd been injured in the line of duty. 

“Sorry about that, Deputy. Isaac can be a brat, but he didn't mean to scare you that badly. He caught you before you hit your head, but we're definitely taking you to the hospital.”

He sighed, looking resigned but determined. “We have a lot to talk about.”

She closed her eyes. “Like why Lahey has a game face?” _I knew I should not have stayed up watching Buffy. I’m seeing vampires.and not a kid who’s on something nasty._

“Oh, he’s not a vampire. He’s a werewolf.:

Em fainted again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! Things have been hectic... slowly but surely this story is getting wrapped up!
> 
> Sorry no 3 new chapters, had a bit of a glitch posting this.

“I’m sorry.” Chris’ eyes met Peter’s steadily, despite the roughness of his low voice. The words felt leaden and hollow on his tongue, too little, too late. 

Peter tilted his head, piercing blue eyes searching the hunter’s face. Chris braced himself under the scrutiny, his hands clenching on his sides against his will. 

“You never meant to. Tell me, Argent, what did you think you were doing?” 

Chris licked his lips. “I… don’t know.” he admitted quietly. “I never realized that any of my actions were - of consequence. That I was doing anything more than being - your friend.” 

He knew his words rang hollow even as he spoke. But it was the truth. “I - I never made the connection. Even after Stiles started courting Derek, because just the idea of you and I was preposterous-” 

“Because you would not stoop so low as to fuck a beast, Argent? Unlike your precious - “

“Don’t!” Chris lashed out, hands curling into fists. “Do not drag her into this.” he said, unsure of which she it was that he meant. His daughter who… more than dallied with wolves, or Kate who’d - 

Peter’s eyes flashed. “And why should I not?”

Chris spoke through clenched teeth. “Because this is about us. You and me. Not what - not what my family has done to yours. This is about what _I_ did to you.” 

Even as he spoke, Chris could feel the truth in his words. Because this was not about what the Argent had done to the Hale, this was what Chris had done to Peter - what he had done out of sheer bull-headed stupidity and blindness. 

“So what, you’ve tied me up to gloat about what _you_ did to me? How you didn’t even deign to lead me on, how the great Chris Argent, hot commodity, most eligible single DILF of Beacon Hills would not _bother_ with a mangy beast?” 

 

Chris blinked. He had no idea what a “DILF” was; he could dimly remember Lydia whispering and Allison shushing her with a look of vague distress; he could assume it was meant to be complementary from the context, but the sneer on Peter’s face was anything but. 

Before Peter could launch into another tirade, Chris blurted it out. “I didn’t think you’d have me.” 

Peter froze mid-word, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before his expression grew cold again. “You expect me to believe that?” 

“Is it so hard to believe?” Chris’s eyes locked with Peter’s blue on blue. “We have a history that cannot be undone, or ignored. Would you fault me for believing you’d spit in my face if I made a move?” 

Peter’s eyes did not dim in the least. “You said this wasn’t about our history.” The handcuffs rattled as Peter shifted restlessly. “So tell me, Argent. Tell me why you think I’d turn you down.” 

Introspection was not one of Chris’s strongest suits, but he was more than able to fairly assess his capabilities. His expression grim, he began to lay out just why he had never expected Peter to reciprocate. 

“Setting aside the Hatfields and the McCoys,” he resolutely refused to compare this situation to anything from Shakespeare, “You deserve better than me. Better than a broken old hunter.” His voice was matter of fact as he spoke.

“I’m older than you, werewolf aging aside. I’m scarred and soon past my prime. I don’t share - or understand - a lot of the things you’re passionate about, and besides Victoria -” his voice broke a little, “I’ve never been with anyone who wasn’t just a fleeting fuck after a fight.” 

Peter tilted his head and exhaled softly. “Is that how you really feel, Christophe? That I would turn you down out of _vanity_? 

Chris laughed without mirth. “It’s you. ”

***

Peter couldn’t deny that Chris had laid out a compelling argument as to why Peter’s particular personality quirks would be a reason for the hunter to see himself as inadequate. After all, Peter was not just gorgeous with an amazing sense of style, he was also a connoisseur of fine things and… 

Unable to bullshit himself, it seemed, as he watched Chris lower his head, defeat written in the tense lines of his shoulders. Once, the sight would have filled him with glee, but now?

Now, Peter felt a scream bubbling just beneath the surface at the unfairness of it all. They were two grown men, well, one grown man, one grown werewolf but that was besides the point. And all this, all this unfathomable _stupidity_ that was at least in part to blame for him being kidnapped and drugged and tortured - again! - by the Calaveras was because they were both acting worse than the teenagers. Thinking the other was not interested, that they were on the - what was it that the kids called it these days? Friend zone? yes, that they were getting _friendzoned…_

The first hiccup of laughter that escaped him was bitter. The second, just a little less so. By the third, he couldn’t stop it. He cackled, he snorted, he _guffawed,_ his body twisting on the sheets, his knees rising towards his chest as he strained against the pink cuffs. 

_“Oh, Chris,”_ he managed between what were definitely _not_ gigglesnorts, blinking away tears from his eyes, “Maybe you should - maybe you should have just given me a note, do you like me, yes, no, it would cert - certainly have worked. “

Chris’s eyes were wide and wounded, his lips parted in what could have been disbelief. “You think this is - “

“Funny? Hilarious? Laughable?” Peter heaved for breath between near-painful gasps of laughter, “Of course it is, Christophe. It is _absolutely_ -” gasp -” _fucking_ -” gasp- ” _hysterical_!”

His eyes met Chris’s and he knew the hunter was powerless to look away. “We’re both adults, Chris, and we’ve been worse than the children about this. You’re telling me you didn’t realize you practically _proposed_ to me because you didn’t think I’d be interested. When I’ve spent months thinking you could not be doing any of it because no way would _you_ want anything from _me_. I am laughing about it, Christophe, because _I can’t start screaming again_!” 

So okay maybe his last words were more of a snarl than a snort. But Chris was looking at him now, eyes wide. “You - you _like_ me-”

The utter befuddlement in Chris’s voice was enough for laughter to bubble out through Peter’s clenched teeth again. Because, oh, that look, the hope and the confusion and just how utterly _ridiculous_ it all was and he just could… not… stop… the laughter - 

The pillow that impacted with his face did it for him. 

***

Chris couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done; that he’d grabbed a pillow and thumped the wolf in the face in response to the utterly absurd situation. “You _like_ me,” he repeated, voice rough, as he watched Peter’s near hysterical laughter quieten down. The tension and fight drained out of the hunter’s body, resignation morphing into relief as his shoulders sagged. 

“Yes, I like you, Chris.” the wolf’s voice was still full of giddiness that had a kindred spirit in the relief that bloomed in Chris’s chest. They could fix this, they could - “Now come here!” 

Apparently confessions of l- _like_ were enough to dull the legendary hunter sense of awareness. The leg that had come up when Peter was convulsing with laughter came up and caught Chris, tipping his balance just enough to send him sprawling over Peter. 

Just as it tipped the forgotten water glass, dousing both them and the bed. 

Chris did not yelp. If he did, he did so in a very manly way as he scrambled away from the cold splatter, half his shirt soaked. Beneath him, Peter had not fared much better; droplets of water glistened on his still bare chest, sluicing down to soak into the soft sheets beneath. 

The way Peter scrunched his face was not - okay, it was adorable. Chris could admit it to himself now. 

“Get these cuffs off me, Agent,” Peter hissed, wiggling away from the wet spot, and Chris did not fail to notice the way he was practically preening to show off now. Not that he minded at all, the flex of muscle and skin breathtaking. That, too, he could admit to himself. 

Peter Hale was ridiculously attractive and Chris had him chained to a bed, shirtless and wet.

From the gleam in Peter’s blue eyes, the situation had not escaped the wolf’s attention. There was a small, smug smirk curling on those delectable lips and Chris could see the small hitch in his breathing, see the blue in his eyes receding but growing brighter at the same time. 

“You’re going to make me pay for this, aren’t you,” Chris murmured, giving up any pretense of keeping his breathing or heartbeat under control as he let his eyes rove over Peter’s body and allowed himself to _look_ and take his fill for the first time. God, Peter was gorgeous. 

“You have _no_ idea, Christophe,” Peter’s voice was a low purr, almost feline as he twisted on the bed, trying the cuffs again. For naught, Chris knew, since they were fairy made. 

Unlike the headboard, which made an alarming noise. 

Chris grinned. “Breaking the bed already? We haven’t even gotten started.” 

Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he tugged off his wet shirt, barely having the time to shiver when the cool air hit his nipples before he leaned forward to kiss Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh sorry about the wait folks! here is the next chapter! Nearing the finish line!

Once Lowe was safely ensconced in the hospital under Melissa’s care and with his dad and Isaac in place to give her the supernatural 101, Stiles let out a long shuddering breath and collapsed against Derek. 

All he wanted to do was to drape himself over his mate-to-be and do nothing but cuddle - and okay maybe a little frottage, it wouldn’t count, right? - but he knew he still had shit to do. namely, making sure Peter and Chris did not either kill each other as they dissolved their wolfy engagement, or… 

“I got a bucket in the trunk,” he sighed. No matter what they’d find once they got there… “We might need it.” 

Slipping into the apartment was easy enough; Stiles still had his spare key, despite his threats Peter had not gotten the locks changed. It was dark inside, the only light coming through the partially open bedroom door. 

The look Derek gave him was more grossed out than Scott’s in third grade when Stiles had showed a handful of skittles, M&Ms _andi >_ Reese’s pieces into his mouth and that was saying something. That had been _epic._

“I never needed to hear my uncle make those noises.” Derek sounded more than a little pained, and Stiles winced. Okay, hearing your uncle whine like a bitch in heat, bad. Despite the overall werewolf oversharing and pack weirdness, check. 

“Don’t worry, sourwolf, you don’t have to listen to them long, now lets get what we need and do what we came here to do and then I will take you home and see what kind of noises you make - “ Stiles’ babble was just as much to distract Derek as the hand on his arm was to reassure him.

On silent feet they made their way to Peter’s extensively stocked kitchen. It did not take them long to find what they needed, and for Derek to help Stiles to carry the bucket to the bedroom door. He refuse to come any further, and Stiles grinned. 

“Your loss.”

He slid the door open all of the way and gasped, just a little. Because, _damn_. (Hey, just because he was in a committed relationship didn’t mean his spank bank was 100% Derek. Only, like, 98%) He committed the picture the two men made on the bed, rolling around half-naked and slick with sweat, lips and hands everywhere firmly into memory before he lifted the bucket and doused them both in ice water. 

The resulting growl-yowl from Peter and decidedly high pitched shriek from Chris were music to his ears. Too bad Derek wouldn’t help him to get a video - he just pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a few photos. 

Both Chris and Peter looked absolutely miserable when wet; the sheets were half tangled around them, at least they were still wearing pants thank god, and without another word Chris began to undo the pink fluffy cuffs that attached Peter to the wow apparently now cracked headboard. _Damn._

“Okay guys, playtime is over.” Stiles’ voice was firm. He resisted the urge to crack any jokes, because this was Official Pack Business. “You were definitely more than cuddling and that’s not gonna fly until the Full Moon. If me and Derek have to suffer for the next few weeks, so do you. Because you’re gonna do this the _right way.”_

From the glance Chris and Peter exchanged, Stiles knew he had said the right thing. He resisted the urge to crow, but damn. He was _awesome_ at being a Second. 

Then it hit him. They were all waiting for the next full moon. Which was like - “You wouldn’t deprive Lydia of her chance to plan a werewolf double wedding, would you?” 

****

Em sat on the edge of the hospital bed and stared at her hands. She had a terrible urge to punch a wall, shout, do _something_ to unleash the whirlwind of having her entire worldview turned upside down. But, nope. She was just sitting here, staring at her hands and wondering just what was in the IV going into her hand. Because being this mellow seemed at odds to what she had been told. Or maybe it’s just the leftover from the tranqs she’d been stabbed with by her long-lost great-aunt’s goons. 

Once at the hospital, still bundled in a uniform jacket two sizes too big for her she’d been seen to a private room and Melissa McCall had come in to look her over. The Sheriff had implored her to halt any questions till they made sure she was okay, and Em had found herself willing to comply, just to see what would happen. Because you do not bring someone into a building full of CCTV cameras and patch them up like this if you just intended to kill them. 

She was dehydrated but otherwise fine, with only mild abrasions on her wrists. McCall had cleaned them but Em had declined the offered bandages. They would be just fine, she’d had worse from bracelets. (she’d had a really bad taste in fashion as a teen, ok) and in case she really was going off the rails and ended up in Eichen house, well, she didn’t want to think about the other implications of bandaged wrists. 

The Sheriff had appeared as soon as McCall was gone, bearing a cup of coffee. Em had snatched it without a second thought, because, coffee. Black and sweet and strong enough to melt the spoon, just the way she liked it. . 

Once she’d drained the cup, the Sheriff sat down and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “So, Lowe, I know you’ve had a rough night but there’s some things I need to tell you. About Beacon Hills, and the… people here.”

Em tensed, swallowing the last dregs of the coffee. “Like what? Because from what I’ve seen, it’s - “ she fell silent, not sure what to say. The image of Lahey’s twisted face would not go away, the eerie golden glow of his eyes as he’d snarled at her, animalistic and wild. 

“It’s what? How about you tell me what you know and we’ll go from there.”

So Em drew a deep breath and began. With every word she spoke, the Sheriff’s face became more and more incredulous; she did not go into detail, but just the broad strokes seemed to have him close to flabbergasted, and Lahey - she hadn’t even noticed him lurking in the room, goddammit! - was snickering audibly. 

“Are you going to tell me I’ve got it all wrong, that you’re not the bag guys here?” Em asked quietly.

The Sheriff sighed. “I can’t fault your deductive abilities, Lowe, but you’re missing a few key factors here. Isaac, can you demonstrate?”

Em turned to look at Lahey, her pulse quickening. This was it, they were going to - 

Lahey straightened from where he was slumped against the wall and took a step forward. His expression was gleeful and then suddenly, there was a ripple and - 

Her jaw dropped when she stared at the - creature in front of her. There was hair and fangs and golden eyes and he was flicking his _claws_ in and out - 

“Isaac here is a werewolf.”

“I believe that.” Em said, her voice small. 

And so she had been told - well, she was certain it was not everything, but the gist of it. What she had assumed was organized crime was supernatural business. That she was apparently related to a family of _werewolf hunters_ who were batshit crazy. But not as crazy as they could have been. She knew there was a lot she was not being told, but she got the idea that some of the tension between Argent and his boyfriend was not entirely sexual for a good reason. 

Now she was waiting for Melissa McCall again, to have the IV removed so Lahey could take her home, where she could curl up in her own damn bed and think about all of this. 

She was gonna do a _lot_ of thinking. 

***

“I am going to kill him.” Peter announced once Stiles had left. “Slowly. Painfully.”

And he meant it. Well, some of it. Stiles was going to _pay_ for interrupting them, propriety be damned, and for the water damage he’d most certainly caused with his little stunt. Good thing he was about to marry Derek, since they were so paying for the damages inflicted on his apartment once he’d… 

Peter squashed the thought of _making a den of their own_ with Christophe ruthlessly as the hunter chuckled softly. 

“I am actually grateful for his intervention,” Chris said softly and took a step closer, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders. “I - I mean it when I said I want to do this right, and if that means waiting…”

“You are going to torment me more?” Peter leaned into Chris’s hold, his still-chilled body soaking up the warmth through the layers of their clothing. He was wrapped in Chris’s shirt, again, the scent of the hunter surrounding him just as firmly as his arms did. It was such a pity that the shirt Chris now wore, while Peter’s, was not one he’d recently worn as his… mourning clothes, put it bluntly, were covered in scents other than his own. 

He wanted to mark Chris every way he could and this was a good start since he’d been threatened with a magical chastity belt if Stiles saw any hickeys. Because, damn him, he was taking his position as Second and playing chaperone seriously. 

Despite his anger and frustration, Peter was quite proud of the boy. Now if only they could get rid of those pesky morals… 

As if reading his thoughts, Chris tightened his hold and Peter did most certainly not purr as he felt more and more tension leach out of his body. 

“Will you go out with me?” 

The question surprised Peter. He resisted the urge to whine that he was _comfy_ and he didn’t want to go anywhere; instead, he twisted in Chris’s hold, turning to face the hunter. 

Chris was looking at him with an earnest, surprisingly open look on his face, waiting for a reaction. 

“Seriously?” Peter was not blushing. Not at all. “We are for all intents and purposes _engaged_ and you want to _date?”_

Chris _did_ blush. “I want to woo you properly. The _human_ way. The way I- “ He trailed off.

And Peter _did_ get it. After all, Christophe had told him all about his own history - how he’d never actually _dated_ someone. Never _wooed_ someone. He had to admit, the idea was… _nice._

He’d been on plenty of dates, had his string of mostly meaningless in the long run but fun while they lasted relationships. He’d never offered anyone wolfsbane, and never received any. The fire that robbed him of his family had not robbed him of his other half, and by some miracle he had a daughter who had never been even near the fire. Of course, for all he knew her mother had been the love of his - first - life, but with the state of his memories, Peter knew he would most likely never know the details of her conception. 

He’d never been one for truly casual encounters, but he’d also never had a committed, serious relationship like the one Christophe had shared with his late wife. It was as if all he’d known was the middle ground, when his hunter had only known the extremes. What it said about the two of them, he didn’t particularly care for, but even so… 

“Where are you planning on taking me?” His face twisted into a devilish smirk as he spoke.

The release of tension in Chris’ shoulders wasn’t exactly relief, but Peter made a small content sound with the knowledge that he was making his mate _happy._ It was almost obscene in how embarrassing it was, but with the way Chris’s eyes lit up, he couldn’t help but let his smirk melt into a smile. 

***

Lydia was going to kill - everyone, at this stage. Take a leaf out of Peter’s book and go on a rampage. Because although she threw the best parties in Beacon Hills, she still wanted more notice than this to plan a double wedding. No, make that the double wedding of the _year._ There was simply no way the formal union of the Hale Elder and the Argent Master of the Hunt - thank you, Allison, for that interesting little tidbit of information - would not be an major occasion for the supernaturals. 

“You can’t be serious!” Stiles stared at her, mouth agape. “You - you mean - “

“If you elope, I will cut off your balls with a rusty spoon and feed them to Mrs. Komada’s cat.” 

She watched Stiles wince, could almost hear the thoughts rushing through his head, trying to find a way out of the predicament he had gotten himself into. Well, more like Peter and Chris had gotten themselves into, with their dallying and hee-hawing, and then expecting Lydia to be the one to plan the party. Or rather, agreeing with Alison when she had nominated her for the job. 

Lydia wasn’t going to kid herself; she would have been insulted if they hadn’t, since this was a challenge she would thrive at which would not result in any deaths, property damage or ruined shoes. And it gave her a lot of leeway with terrorizing everyone around her, which was a bonus. 

It also terrified Aiden, because her wolf was far from ready to settle down - unlike Ethan, who had been talking to Scott with intent not too long ago; Danny was a lucky guy - just the way she liked it. She had _plans,_ after all - and despite the fact that practically everyone around her was getting married or equally informally committed because polyandry was illegal while still in high school, she was in no hurry. 

“How big is this thing gonna be?” Stiles was now looking thoughtful. “I mean could we keep the ceremony itself private and just have a huge reception?” 

“Because of the short notice, it won’t be as big as it should be - maybe two hundred guests or so I’d say.” Lydia had been factoring in travel times, phase of the moon, the tides and a few other interesting circumstances when sorting out the guest list. 

It was almost the reverse of a traditional wedding - the big party would come first, speeches and dancing included, and once the moon was at its peak on the sky, the couple - or in this case, couples - would make their way into the woods, away from prying eyes, to consummate their bond under the light of the moon. 

She’d made sure to map a suitable area in the preserve for both couples, far enough from each other so there would be no unfortunate echoes. She would have made sure that there would also be blankets, lanterns and other amenities, but Peter had vetoed that - explaining that providing for those was for the one who had initiated the courtship. 

The first step of establishing their own den. Which was, as far as Lydia was concerned, sickeningly sweet. And also more of a ceremonial note since she was quite certain neither couple intended to strike out on their own. The rebuilt Hale house was easily big enough to accommodate the pack in its entirety, so even two newlywed couples would fit right in and soundproofing be praised. Or at least, that’s what she assumed. 

Stiles gulped. “I hadn’t actually thought about that.”

“You mean you were going to continue living with your dad and letting Derek sneak in through the window even after you get married?” 

**

Stiles had not, in fact, thought about it. So when he met up with Derek later that night to go for curly fries - the burgers were totally secondary - and shakes, Stiles found himself preoccupied. 

“Something on your mind?”

Stiles licked his lips. “Actually yeah.” 

He’d looked into this. He hadn’t gone and asked Peter because he was pretty sure Peter was plotting bloody and humiliating revenge for the ice bucket thing. Dens were important to wolves, so this was a Big Deal. And made more complicated by the fact that the Hale house was Derek’s family property but Stiles was the Second of the Beacon Hills pack. 

Before he could speak up though, Derek smiled. He smiled much more often in general these days, but the broad grin was still enough to throw tiles off a little. 

“The answer is yes.”

Stiles blinked. “I haven’t even asked anything yet!” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Between your fidgeting and Peter’s reign of terror in every home store in the county, it’s pretty obvious.” 

“What you mean he isn’t just a fashion consultant in addition to failed supervillain? You mean he actually is into interior decorating? Like, he didn’t pay the big bucks to someone to have his apartment decorated?” 

Derek looked pained. “Peter… has opinions about aesthetics.” 

Stiles grinned. He was a pro in reading Derek Hale’s Eyebrows (™) and the pained little wince he made… 

“Did he make you wax your eyebrows? He did, didn’t he!” 

Derek’s answering glare was fearsome and adorable. Like Grumpy Cat. “I was fourteen.” 

Stiles’ mind was racing down avenues he did not want to explore because from Derek’s eyebrows it went to the dusting of chest hair he’d seen on Chris over the summer and the question of waxing came up and yeah Stiles did not actually want to go there, instead he shoved a handful of fries into his mouth and chewed noisily, drowning out any inappropriate thoughts about manscaping. 

Instead, once he’d swallowed and slurped noisily from his shake because Derek knew all his gross habits and wanted to marry him anyway, fuck yes, he began to gesture. “So I know the basic blueprint of the house but what are you thinking? I know most of the interior needs Pete’s guiding hand.”

Derek winced. “Yes. We have the eastern master bedroom with the windows.”

East, morning sun, magic. Exactly the room Stiles would have picked had he been thinking about picking one to share with Derek. “And Chris and Peter?”

“West side, top floor.” 

“As far away from us as possible.”

“It’s soundproofed. “


	18. Chapter 18

Peter was absolutely not fretting as the time for Chris to pick him up drew inexorably closer. It would take more than pain of torture to make him admit that he’d spent more than an hour trying to pick out a shirt already, trying to decide between figure-hugging V-necks that were his trademark and something more formal, perhaps a silk button up which would also invite touch in addition to feeling like balm against his still raw-feeling skin. 

Pushing the thoughts of lingering post-fire tenderness aside, Peter frowned when the knock on his door came. It was still early - a glance to his watch confirmed that. (And was the white-gold Cartier the best choice tonight, or should he go for silver? Or go for something more daring like the lovely rose gold Bvlgari? But with their luck, he might be better off with one of the performance pieces, the Swiss Army I.N.O.X. which was acid resistant amongst other thing perhaps… ) 

Dear God, he was spending too much time with Stiles - the mental babble he was subjecting himself to was excruciating! Almost enough to distract him from the fact that there was someone at his door and Chris was not due for another three hours. 

The scent that greeted him in the hallway as he approached the door was a familiar but a surprising one. Laundry detergent, gun oil, a hint of disinfectant and dry paper, tinged with an edge of permanent exasperation and worry. He knew exactly who was behind the door, and it disturbed him. Had something happened? What - 

The door swung open, revealing the Sheriff standing on the other side. Out of uniform, clad in jeans and a leather jacket that had seen better days but fit his broad shoulders to perfection. His expression was serious but not alarmed, so Peter allowed himself to relax a fraction (and an appreciative eyeful)

“Sheriff,” he acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “This is a surprise.”

“Peter.” the Sheriff acknowledged with a curt nod. “May I come in?” 

“Of course.” Peser took a step back and gestured towards the living room. “My casa es su casa.” 

It should have felt more momentous, to let the Sheriff in like this, without the shield of an invite and tradition. The Sheriff who had previously only barged in - with a shotgun to protect dear Stiles’ still quite intact virtue - his home but Peter had to admit that a part of him was already considering this an abandoned den, as much as he loved the place and had no intention of letting the lease lapse. _If_ they would renew it. 

“Have a seat, Sheriff, would you care for a drink?” 

Sheriff shook his head and Peter frowned. Something was off. 

“I’d rather stand if you don’t mind, Peter. I am not here for pleasantries.”  
.   
“Somehow I am not surprised. Let me guess - “

The Sheriff raised a hand before Peter could continue. “Save it, I get enough deflection from Stiles. I am here about your intentions.”

“My intentions?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Why, shouldn’t you be having this conversation with my nephew? After all, my intentions towards Stiles have been made crystal clear. You were there, after all, and so was a shotgun..”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Hale.” The Sheriff snorted. “This isn’t about Stiles, or even about your relationship with Chris even though God knows you two are worse than the kids.” 

Blue eyes zeroed on his and Peter felt uncomfortable bared. Trapped. Like he should lash out, rip the intruder in his den who dared to question him apart but Peter knew he could not do that and instead, gritted his teeth, trying to keep the change at bay. 

The Sheriff’s gaze fell unerringly to the claws that were peeking from the tips of Peter’s fingers. 

“I know you have not been tamed, Hale. You’re still the guy who clawed his way out of catatonia to kill every sonofabitch responsible for your family’s death. You came back from the dead - and don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten what happened with Lydia - and you killed Jennifer Blake. I want to know what you are going to do next.”

Peter blinked. He knew about - 

“Yes, I know about Blake. Stiles talked me out of arresting your sorry ass for it. Now, you tell me what. Are. You. After.” 

Peter drew a deep breath and regarded the Sheriff closely. He had to give it to the man, he had some mighty big ones to come to Peter like this, to confront him when he knew exactly what Peter was capable of, the lengths he’d gone. 

“The same thing I always have.” Peter smiled, baring his teeth. “Power.” 

***

 

For a moment, Stilinski regretted not bringing a shotgun after all. But this was a conversation he knew could not be had with the force of arms. Even so, the dark look on Peter’s face was enough to give him pause, make him shift his stance in case Peter lunged. 

“Power.” he repeated Peter’s words. “And what is that supposed to be mean?” 

“What do you think it means, Sheriff?” Peter stalked forward, cutting off the obvious exit of the door. “I killed Jennifer Blake. I made Derek give up his Alpha powers. I killed my own niece - “ the bitterness was palpable in the wolf’s voice - “To become an alpha, only to have your son light me on fire so Derek could cut my throat.” 

Before Stilinski could say anything, Peter had moved and a tall elegant vase was shattered against a wall, crystal shards raining everywhere. 

“The mad alpha, power crazed zombie wolf, evil tricksy Peter - should I go on? I know what they think, what the children think, that all I do is skulk in the shadows, plotting like a B-grade movie villain?” 

The anger in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. 

“You can’t say they don’t have cause for that, Peter. That I don’t have reasonable cause to be here asking you what you are after. What you are going to do after you marry Chris because as good as your cooking is, I don’t see you happy about being a den mother. “

Stilinski fell silent for a moment, watching Peter’s hands and the claws threatening to come fore. “You’re pack. My _son_ is pack.” 

 

Peters mirthless laughter sent a chill down his spine. “Your son. Who told you not to arrest me when I murdered someone.”

Stilinski fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Lets try to avoid the confessing things I should action as the Sheriff part.” 

Peter’s sneer did not waver but he fell silent, a torrent of snark and deflection for once not falling from his lips. Which in itself was worrying, because what Stilinski knew from dealing with his son was that when a snarky little shit falls quiet, bad things are afoot. Or is it apaw in this case? 

“You should thank Stiles.” Peter’s voice was quiet as he turned away from Stilinski, looking out of the large windows to the darkness just beyond. “I am not going to lie to you, Sheriff. I had - plans. Scott is a true Alpha, and his power is inviolable - but there are others who will come, called by the Nemeton. Others already here because even as Hale pack diminished, others rose in power.” 

The bitter, resigned tone in Peter’s voice was painful to listen to.

“Scott is a True Alpha and like most True Alphas in history, he’s too good for his own good. For everyone’s good. He thinks everyone is good at heart, that the bad guys can be redeemed. That he can let Deucalion go, and there will be no repercussions. No revenge. That keeping Gerard Argent alive is anything but a mistake,” and with that name Peter’s claws did come out, slashing deep grooves into his palms, “He should have killed them. He should have killed me and made sure I stayed dead. He is leaving Beacon Hills, he is leaving the pack WIDE OPEN!” 

Peter bellowed those last few words and another vase met its fate, shattering into pieces that would deeply embed into the carpet He raised his fist, blood dripping in wide rivulets and Stilinski knew Peter was not getting that deposit he’d worried about back. 

 

“He would leave them all vulnerable and see the pack wiped off the face of the earth.” 

Stilinski knew he should scoff at the idea of Peter Hale being worried about the pack, about protecting them - but he could not fault the internal logic of Peter’s actions. He knew about the memories that had been stolen, if not the specifics, and of the other banshee - what did you call a group of banshees? A flock? A horde? A wake? - who’d seen things in Peter’s head she’d tried to set in motion, to make Beacon Hills strong. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He was very careful when he spoke. “What will you do now?” 

the look on Peter’s face became haunted, just for a moment before the familiar sneer replaced “Do? Become a den mother, I suppose, waiting till some upstart alpha passes and I can have what is rightfully mine.Rebuild the Hale pack.” 

The casualness of his tone betrayed the seriousness of his words - despite the glib way he'd phrased it, Stilinski knew this was as close to truth as he was going to get.

“And why not do whatever it was that you intended to anyway?”

Peter’s eyes flashed supernatural blue as they met Stilinski’s..

“Scott McCall may be a good man, but Stiles… is not.” 

***

Chris glanced at his phone one last time. _Everything is set_ , the text read. _We’re square_.

He’d had to call in a big favour for this one, but he knew it was going to be worth it. He had fucked up royally, and he knew that to make up for it he’d have to woo Peter like the drama queen he was. And even if he hadn’t… this was the only first date they would ever have and he wanted it to be perfect. 

Their destination was little under an hour away; they could afford to be late, but Chris was hoping they would make it on time. He realized he had no idea if Peter was punctual or not - if he would take forever to get ready despite the fact that they’d agreed that Chris would come to pick him up at five. Or perhaps, Chris reflected, he was projecting stereotypes and should just suck it up and expect Peter to be - Peter. 

Chris felt self-conscious as he stood in the elevator, aware of how stark his reflection was in the mirror behind him. He’d never been a fan of dressing up, but he had more than his share of classic suiting and formal wear due to his role in Argent Arms International. There had been a moment when he’d picked up the tie that matched his slate gray shirt which he knew brought out his eyes and _remembered_ \- how Victoria had smiled at him, fixing the knot and told him to knock them dead before he’d headed out to his first serious business deal, the soft touch of her fingers on his hand in lieu of a kiss. 

He’d picked out another tie instead. Victoria was at peace, and he couldn’t help but think that she would be happy for him. Allison certainly was - she’d shown no reservations about this, had hugged him and told him Peter was far luckier than he had any right to be and that she didn’t expect him home till tomorrow - perhaps her tacit way saying that she would not be spending the night alone, but Chris preferred not to think about such things. 

The ding of the elevator seemed louder than bombs as he stepped into the corridor. Blessedly empty, only the slightly sad-looking plant with broken branches the only evidence of what had happened here such a short while ago. 

He knew Peter would know he was coming, would smell the gunpowder and aconite, hear the hammering of his heart in his chest well before he reached the door and raised a hand to knock. As soon as his knuckles met the wood, the door swung open to reveal Peter and Chris felt his breath catch in his throat. 

The moment stretched out for what seemed like an eternity before Peter raised a hand in a mocking little wave. “Hi.”

"Hi.” Chris’ tongue felt thick in his mouth. “You look gorgeous.”

Peter preened at the praise, even though he scoffed openly at the words. “As you would say anything else even if I wore a burlap sack, Christophe.”

“You would look good in a burlap sack:” Chris bit his tongue before he could add, _or nothing at all._ Trying very hard not to gape and stutter like a schoolboy picking up a girl to the prom - which was too close to the truth to be comfortable as a metaphor if he was honest, he thrust out his hand, the stems of the flowers in his hand only slightly crushed 

Chris may not have known what the gift of wolfsbane had meant, but he was well versed in the language of flowers. The bouquet he held went beyond the red roses of romance;from the deep red tulips to the sprig of white Ivy surrounding the arrangement. And from the pleased crinkle of Peter’s eyes, he knew the wolf understood perfectly. 

“Thank you, Christophe, these are gorgeous.” 

Chris did not blush. Most certainly not. 

He followed as Peter stepped into the apartment, the bouquet in his arms. “Let me put these into water and then I am all yours.”

The fact that Peter headed to the kitchen instead of picking one of the vases Chris knew should have been right there on the table in the living room made Chris wary. There was no reason for them to be missing, no reason for Peter to come back with a tall jug that had held sangria in the summer. It was enough to keep him from thinking about what Peter had said, about being _all yours_ in too great a detail. Not that he hadn’t, before, in the privacy of his own home (and with Allison safely away) but this was different. this was important. 

“Did something happen?” Chris got straight to the point even as he extended his arm towards Peter. 

The wolf shook his head. “Nothing you should worry about. Not tonight.” 

“Is this something that is going to come bite us in the ass later?” 

“No.” Peter’s eyes crinkled and Chris most decidedly did not swoon. “Now I believe you wanted to _woo_ me?” 

There was a part of Chris that wanted to press, to keep asking questions, to use the fact that Peter was sliding a hand up his arm to push the wolf into the wall and demand answers. But he was surprised and gratified to find that part of himself overwhelmed by the _trust_ he had in Peter. 

“Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Christophe.” 

Chris’ breath caught in his chest - again - at the sight of Peter’s sly smile. There was a hint of shyness to it, like Peter had a hard time believing that they were doing this - that Chris was taking his word for something, especially since Chris now placed the lingering hint in the air as bleach over blood.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, another chapter! :D So sorry for the delay, there has been a lot of other things requiring my attention. I hope you enjoy!

Peter had expected the hour-long drive Chris had announced they had ahead of them to be more awkward. Tense, at east. But it seemed that Chris had accepted his .. explanation, lack of at face value and that the hunter _trusted_ him not to hold back anything vital. 

Nevertheless, Peter still felt agitated after the Sheriffs visit, unsettled in his skin. He had been content enough until now to not to consider his plans as plans per say, rather shutting them off in a nebulous cloud of once, what if, when. 

And now, Stilinski had forced him to face his own desires, as dark as they were. 

Peter had no doubt that had things gone differently, he would be plotting the death of Scott McCall. The boy was a fool who would have left Beacon HIlls wide open for not just usurpers, but usurpers with a grudge. There was a time and place for negotiation, but leaving an enemy alive once you have defeated them and humiliated them - no, it would not do.

Even now, he knew that there were people out there who wanted revenge. Hell, the fairies would certainly come back before winter solstice so they better stock up on hair dryers and cold iron well before then. Stiles had informed him that Deucalion was still in France, As if that pretentious English asshole had any real appreciation of the French countryside or cuisine. And there were… others. 

He pushed the thoughts ruthlessly aside and glanced at Chris. The hunter’s hold of the steering wheel was relaxed, the small smile on his lips one that Peter wanted to kiss away till Chris’ lips were wet and red and they’d be pulling over - but Chris had told him there was a surprise waiting at the end of the road, and that it was time-sensitive. Peter _loved_ surprises, believe it or not, and he was eager to see what Christophe had in mind. 

Well, not _all surprises_ obviously, he’d seen his fair share of unpleasant ones over the years - the Twins’ megazord form took the cake since he refused to think about the slime mold incident of 1994 - but the idea that someone had gone out of their way to provide him with one, well.. it was nice. Why yes, Peter did so enjoy when he was showered with attention and effort, thank you very much. 

Chris’ voice started him out of his reverie, cutting over the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury. “We’re almost there.”

Peter sat up a little straighter. “And just where _is_ there, Christophe? You have been quite tight-lipped about your little surprise.”

The grin Chris threw him made the hunter look years younger and Peter did not, absolutely did not stop breathing for a moment. The thought that he would sigh like a schoolchild with stars in his eyes was absolutely absurd, no matter how enticing the glint of Chris’ white teeth in the dark.

Within a few minutes, it became evident that Chris was bringing him to a small, secluded marina. There weren’t many boats present, but Peter found himself impressed nonetheless. As a wolf, he was a creature of the woods, but he’d always enjoyed the seaside. The ocean felt the pull of the moon just as wolves did, and there was something very soothing about the tides. Not to mention, the whole water being the antithesis of fire thing. Twice had been enough.

Peter looked around, curious, as Chris came around the car to open the door for him like a proper gentleman. There were a few buildings, all in good repair and then some, and a number of boats. All looked well.kept and expensive, but Peter had to admit that he had absolutely zero experience with boats. 

“Have you ever been sailing before?” Chris’ eyes fucking twinkled as he spoke, the arm he proffered to Peter solid and warm. It was surprisingly easy to reconcile the gruff, scruffy hunter with the besuited, suave gentleman set out to woo him. After all, seduction was but a different kind of hunt. 

“Yes, I’m great at boats.” Peter did not wince as he remembered the context in which he had picked up that particular phrase. Damn Stiles and his affinity for leaving comics at Peter’s place. 

Chris raised an eyebrow. “It’s not called driving a boat.” 

“Please tell me whatever you intend will not lead to either one of us uttering the phrase ‘aww, boat, no.’”

Chris grinned, and Peter realized he was not surprised at all that Chris had understood that reference. He’d never been a hardcore nerd, he left that to the likes of Stiles, but the fact that this, too, was something small he and Chris shared sent a tendril of warmth through him. 

“Don’t worry, we have professionals for that.” 

When Chris began to lead him towards the end of the pier, Peter’s eyebrows rose against his will. The boat parked - okay, anchored there was not just any old dinghy. It was a luxury yacht, over ninety feet long. It sparkled a brilliant white in the rays of the sun that was about to set, the name _Syrinx_ proudly emblazoned on its prow. 

“Well, Christophe, it seems you have truly surpassed my expectations,” Peter murmured, pausing in front of the gangplank. “This is quite the thing.”

Chris excused himself to confirm a few details. Peter let his eyes wander over the boat, scenting the air to taste what more lay ahead than the salt of the sea. There was a faint hint of wolfsbane but it was not overpowering, of engine fumes and dead fish and when he focused, he could hear the heartbeat of several humans aboard. 

It made sense - such a vessel would certainly require a crew. 

Just as Chris had trusted him, Peter smiled when Chris returned. “Shall we?” 

***

The noises Stiles was making while asleep were somewhat disquieting as well as disgusting, but Stilinski had been dealing with his son’s nocturnal emissions - oh god no, not that word - nocturnal serenades for a long time, now. 

He stood at the doorway, watching Stiles sprawled on the bed, long lashes leaving shadows on his cheeks even as he drooled into his pillow. It took a certain skillset that was practically grounds for getting into ninja warrior to get that pillow away long enough to wash it, and it would have to happen soon. 

Peter’s words had hurt. No man wants to think that their son is not all the things they want, all the things they hope for, a better man to stand in a better world. But Stilinski was no fool and he knew that even as the wolf had said Stiles was not a good man, it was not an accusation or a defamation. Although his approval would fill Stiles with shame. 

Of his two boys - and Scott was more his son than Agent Mccall’s, he was fully willing to admit that - Scott was the one with the moral compass and Stiles the one who did what needed to be done. He knew this was part of the reason Stiles had been so affected by the nogitsune, why the guilt still gnawed at him - the knowledge that Stiles was able to see the world for what it was and know hard choices had to be made.

Stilinski had killed in the line of duty - both in the military and the law enforcement - and he knew the weight of those decisions. Sometimes, you had to do things you did not want to, to end something before worse things could happen. But he also knew, these were the kind of things that had consequences and that was why he was here in the middle of the night staring at his sleeping son. 

The fact that Stiles’ pragmatism ran as deep as his protectiveness and love for those in his pack - not that Stilinski had ever expected to embrace that word like he had - was one of the things keeping Peter Hale on the straight and narrow was.. not as much of a surprise as it could have been. It was plain to see that the rapport between the two of them their shared experiences, was something that was doing good to Stiles in a way no therapist could be. (When Deaton had made noises about special arrangements at Eichen House, he’d been shut down hard. The Eichen House situation needed investigating, once things calmed down a little. Supernatural side of things might have been calm this past while, but things done by humans, well, it had been a busy few months. 

Stilinski wasn’t going to deny how worried he had been at the beginning - and that his shotgun had been completely justified. But even after seeing that photo from Danny’s birthday party Stiles had no idea he knew existed, he still found Peter Hale’s interactions with Stiles while far from innocent, overall positive. Peter had been - well. He hadn’t known the man before the fire, and had only seen glimpses of him after but before he had come back from the dead like a messiah, or a zombie because apparently burning was not good enough for him. (What about salt and burn?) but even then, the Peter he’d first met, had heard about was not the same man who had calmly cleaned his blood from his hands with a fancy handkerchief and told Stilinski his son’s willingness to get his hands dirty was why he had not gone on _another_ rampage. 

Not that Stilinski was willing to give Stiles _all_ the credit for keeping Peter’s feet on the ground. There was Lydia, whose banshee powers had brought Peter back and who’d made her peace with him. After that, Peter had seemed noticeably more - solid, for lack of a better word. Malia, in all her eccentric oddities, was another big factor. The look in Peter’s eyes the first time he’d seen her, well… Stilinski recognized that look. He’d had it himself when he’d first seen the squirming, wailing bundle that was Stiles. And last but not the least, there was Chris. 

Chris Argent’s file at the station was thick and bulging - just like his biceps, as some of the deputies were fond of saying - because of not just what his sister had done, or what had happened to his wife but all the _incidental_ things that surrounded the legitimate businessman. He knew Lowe’s ideas about organized crime were not unique, and it was easy enough to see where that idea could come from since Stilinski had never encountered anyone as plain dangerous as Chris Argent. Human or not, the man would have been bad news under any other circumstances.   
And Peter was the only one who could match him. The rapport between the two, even if it had not taken a romantic turn, was one that did good to both men. He understood the pain Chris was in, understood what the loss of the woman you love does to a man, but he also knew you could not wrap your heart in cellophane forever. Eventually, someone would come and the sharp cardboard edge would slowly but surely with with enough gentle pressure bare your feelings. Just look at Melissa - it had taken them years to get to this point, but he loved her just as he’d loved Claudia.

Shaking his head, Stilinski closed the door and turned on his heel to go back to his room. He was beat, more so from the conversation with Peter and the reflection on it. Peter had made his choice to be good, to bide his time until alpha power would be his by right of conquest from an attacker, and even then… well. It certainly had been educating, to know Beacon Hills was home to more than one pack in the end, and that even if Peter and Chris would choose to splinter away, the McHaleinski Pack would still be strong. 

Usually it was the children splintering away from their parents, not the other way around. But of course the damn wolves had to do everything the hard way. He was just glad their traditions were not quite as rigid as it would seem. The sooner the wedding was over, the better.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, folks! This fic is a monster, and I originally planned to have it finished by the time S4 started. Yeaaah, about that... 
> 
> So, have a chapter in honor of S5!

Chris watched Peter as the sunset lit the sea on fire like a torch dropped in oil. His wolf's nostrils flared as reds and golds danced on the waves, the sky a gorgeous swirl of colour in a mass of purple and pink. 

Peter was not a cheap date by any stretch of imagination, but arranging all this - well, Chris had had to call in a lot of favours and burn through a lot of disposable income to make sure their first date would be perfect. And right now, with the look of wonder on Peter’s face as the yacht swayed in the gentle breeze, it was all worth it. 

“Thank you; Christophe,” Peter murmured. “This is - wondrous. Beautiful. ” 

Chris did not blush at the parise. Most certainly not. If anyone in this relationship got a bit weak at the knees at praise, it was Peter. Not Chris. 

“I hoped you would enjoy it.” He licked his lips. “Would you care for a drink?” 

The yacht had an extremely well stocked bar, from from Bushmills 21 year old single malt to Moet and Chandon. And, the non-vintage Krug he knew Peter had a fondness for. 

Peter shook his head as he stepped away from the brass railing. “That’s not quite what I am in the mood for.” 

And then Peter was kissing him, lips soft and pliant. 

Chris wrapped his arms around the wolf, instinctively pulling him close. the kiss stayed gentle and unhurried. They had all the time in the world, or at least, they had the boat until morning. He most certainly did not think about the lavish suite hidden below deck, since he wanted to do this _right._ Not even when Peter made a small noise at the back of his throat that went straight into his spine and bypassed his mind entirely.

Regretfully, Chris drew back, gasping only slightly. “We have a dinner prepared for us, if you’d care to eat.” 

Peter’s grin was pure wolf. “Why; Christophe, I am absolutely famished.” 

Chris had to close his eyes and count backwards from ten in Romanian to rein himself in; he didn’t have to see Peter to know how amused the wolf was, and even as he stepped back and offered his arm to Peter, he knew this was going to be a trial. 

The chef that came with the yacht would have outdone himself, on orders from the owner and because he’d seen Chris’ weaponry when he’d been here earlier to inspect the boat. Now that the sun had set, leaving a breathtaking vista of the Pacific stars behind, the candlelit table for two at the ship’s prow looked even more impressive. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Peter take it all in, the snow white linen, the crystal, the silverware, thirty grand worth of favors owed but the little soft _oh_ that escaped Peter’s lips made it all worthwhile. 

Chris’ hands shook only a little as he pulled Peter’s chair out for him; the way Peter’s eyes danced made it very clear that the wolf was humoring him, in letting him play the gentleman, and for that Chris was glad. He might not have had a relationship like this, with another man, before, but he knew better than to try to think that just because he was the one doing the wooing, Peter was suddenly cast in the role of a damsel. (No, he would not think about Peter _in distress,_ especially not tied up, right now. He would not.)

On the table, the centerpiece was a flower arrangement Chris had given special instructions for. Again, the tendrils of white ivy were present, signaling both his affection and the fact that he was anxious to make Peter happy. Roses in shades of coral and damask, and again the red tulips. He’d even dared to include stephanotis -for they were engaged and since Peter knew herbal lore, he’d appreciate the fussy plant. He certainly did smile when he saw it, and the small discreet flask of monkshood tincture placed next to his setting. 

But none of the trappings compared to the fact that Peter was here, with him. 

***

Rather than risk being ousted through the window if Chris did return home, Scott had chosen to leave early with Isaac in tow. While his beta had headed back home, Scott had found himself too restless to join him. It was the Alpha’s instinct, when a part of his pack was not close by, knowing they had wandered off, that was making him antsy. 

He didn’t mean to stalk, but somehow, when the familiar SUV pulls into the parking lot, Scott’s close enough that his werewolf senses don’t miss Chris being a gentleman and walking Peter to the door of the apartment building. 

Scott averted his eyes and did his best to dull his senses; there was no way he was gonna witness the goodbye between Peter and Chris in any detail if he could avoid it. Because, eww, that was _Allison’s dad._  
  
It’s not that he didn’t trust Chris, it’s just that he had to make sure Peter was okay. Because Peter was pack. The resonance between them was something unique, the fact that Peter had been the one to give him the Bite in the first place, only to have that bond severed by death and not brought back by resurrection.

It had taken a lot of work, but Scott had forgiven him. Eventually. With a lot of griping and talking to his mom about it. The whole.. thing they did not talk about had been a big part of it, as had the Alpha spark that had grown to flare inside him. He could finally understand just how messed up Peter had been after the fire, how he’d needed _help_ , not abandonment. While Derek calling him less than human at the hospital had been cruel, it had also not been wholly inaccurate, to describe how badly off Peter had been. 

Scott was determined to be a good Alpha. Even if it meant being unconventional, forging new traditions in place of old, and making sure that Allison’s dad was treating Peter right while they were courting. Like she had pointed out, it could have been so much worse. One - or both - of them could have wanted to date his _mom._

_“My dad and… Peter?”_

_“I know right? But it could be worse, your dad could’ve asked out my mom.”_

_“You’re right, it could be worse.”_

_“Maybe they both will, now, Peter already did.”_

_“Not helping, Isaac!”_

The conversation had then devolved, but Scott pushed the memory aside; he wanted to make sure he got away without being unseen, he didn’t want Chris to know he was being observed. 

“Isn’t it past your curfew, Scott?” 

Darn. Too late. 

Chris’ eyes were almost beta-bright in the low light as he walked towards the car. Scott felt the tips of his ears heat up as he made his way over, landing on his feet silently. He could see Chris nod approvingly, which was weird but familiar now. 

Scott shrugged unapologetically. “No curfew.” 

He thought Stiles probably would have made some quip about Peter’s curfew, but Scott had no desire to antagonize Chris over this. And it seemed the desire was mutual, as Chris only nodded curtly, his expression softening a little. 

As awkward encounters went, his didn’t really even rank in the top five for the two of them. No desserts were involved, for one, and definitely not firearms. Or lingerie. 

Scott wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be doing any of this. As far as he knew, since no one had bothered to elaborate on the traditions of the courtship to him, his involvement had ended with the conversation he’d had with Chris that had ranked maybe, three on the awkward scale. So okay, maybe a five. Alpha permission granted, you may proceed. 

After all, he’d thought it was about Allison and Isaac, not about - well, this. Not that it had been, but as far as tradition and Scott’s peace of mind were concerned, Chris had crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s when it came to courting Peter. 

“Doesn’t mean your mother won’t worry,” Chris’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “After all, you’ve been out all evening.” 

Scott did not blush. “She’s working tonight.” 

Again, they were at an impasse. Scott drew a deep breath. “Did - did you and Peter have a good time?” 

Chris’s expression softened a fraction, but on the hunter, it spoke volumes and something inside Scott crooned at it, at the knowledge that one of his pack was well cared for, had a strong mate,a happy mate. It felt weird but he knew it was something he had to own to be the best Alpha he could be. 

“Yes. Yes, we did..”

It was a mutual understanding that Chris was not going to return the question. 

*****

The pounding on the door was thankfully not echoed in Peter’s head; he was, perhaps, mildly hung over, with a slight ache at his temples that was still an unusual state for a werewolf. Possibly exacerbated by the fact that he had not, in fact, been sensible last night and grabbed a glass of water before bed. No, insead once Chris had left him with a good night kiss fit for the ages, he’d simply collapsed into bed to curse the hunter’s propriety and, ah, take care of matters at hand. At least, he’d had the presence of mind to get rid of _most_ of his clothes before he’d passed out. 

His suit was probably salvageable. Peter had faith in the dry cleaners in Beacon Hills. They had worked _miracles_ in the past. Especially in the aftermath of the glitter incident. (Some things were just _hopelessly_ stuck in the 1980s.) Nevertheless, Peter did not pause to pick it up, instead choosing to wrap himself up in a robe and put on slippers before he made his way to the door where the shave and a haircut had given way to a passable rendition of the Super Mario theme. 

Fucking Stiles. Of course. 

“You have a key,” he called out and turned on his heel, making his way to the kitchen. He only spared a short appreciative glance to the flowers from the night before, sitting on the (Italian) end table in the sangria jug. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty to break the Waterford crystal vases, but.. no one could fault his sense of flair. 

When Stiles came up to him, he was pouring orange juice into a champagne flute. He very pointedly did not have a second glass out. 

“You could’ve opened the door.”

“I know you have a key.” Peter shrugged unapologetically and set the champagne flute aside to chug the juice straight from the carton. 

“You’re gross and I did not want to walk in on you and Chris.” 

Peter snorted as he lowered the carton. “Is this your way of checking if we are behaving, Stiles?” 

“Dude, if anyone will be obeying the letter and not the spirit of courtship, it’s you.” 

And perhaps Stiles was right - certainly one might say the kiss he’d shared with Chris had been skirting at the edges of inappropriate - they were meant to be scenting, not rutting, until it was time for them to be joined. 

The idea that he might require the Second’s involvement should have been as galling as the thought of Stiles seeing him before he’d had a chance to go through even the most rudimentary of grooming regimes, bleary-eyed and bed-haired. 

Peter was quite surprised to find that it was not entirely unpleasant. 

“As you can see, Chris did not spend the night. And I assure you, if he had, we would have been perfectly capable of keeping it in our pants.” Because, frottage. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re old, not dead.” 

“Who are you calling _old_?” 

Stiles grinned, and grabbed the flute, downing the juice in a single gulp. 

Peter smiled. With teeth. 

Stiles looked at the flute, then at Peter. 

“What did you do?”

“Did you know a corpse will smell of violets if the death was caused by ingesting turpentine?” 

“You would not.” 

“Would not what?” Peter was very proud of his innocent expression. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He had done absolutely nothing to merit Stiles’ slowly widening eyes and the untimely near-demise of the flute as the boy’s fingers grew lax. 

Even mildly hungover, Peter had the speed to snatch it gently in the air. 

“You know Scott would kill you if you actually poisoned me.”

“But I have done no such thing.” 

The look of utter betrayal on Stiles’ face was so worth it. 

It might not have been worth the phone call he gets from Melissa an hour later. 

_“Stiles showed up at the hospital convinced he’s been poisoned and Derek is heading your way._ ” 

Oh dear. 

“Tell the dear boy all he ingested was orange juice and ice water.” 

Melissa’s sigh promised the conversation was far from over. _“Peter.”_

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Once he’d deal with his nephew, anyway. Where _did_ he put that spray bottle?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome!


End file.
